


The Werewolf of Saint Lucia

by retrowavesasquatch



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Pegging, Public Sex, Self Penetration, Semi-Public Sex, Trans Male Character, Violence, Voyeurism, Werewolves, self sabotage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-07 23:57:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21466657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrowavesasquatch/pseuds/retrowavesasquatch
Summary: A series of short stories surrounding a werewolf who's settled down in a Caribbean resort city.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	1. Dior: The Summer of 1985

I don’t know if there’s any right way to process your best friend being a monster. Up until that night on the beach, werewolves were just b-movie monsters. It’s not like I can go to a therapist and be like: Oh yeah, I saw my best friend eating a tourist, and I think he’s the one who killed that American family last June.

Now that I sit back and think about it: How many murders could be attributed to him? The gang related killings, and cases of vacation domestic violence could be ruled out. It’s the other deaths and disappearances. The ones that never get solved, or chocked up to foolish tourists thinking the jungle is safe just because it’s next to a resort. Sure, some of them are that. The week before that night they pulled a young guy out of the brush. He’d been bitten by a snake, and most of his face had been chewed off by feral dogs.

I never saw the body they found on the beach. The paper reported that it was some wealthy man from Colorado, who was wanted in the States for embezzlement. They had to identify him by the serial number on his hip replacement.

What I remember most were the monster’s eyes: That beautiful green-blue, surrounded by dark lashes. I’d tried to shut them out, but they still crept into my nightmares; along with those crooked teeth, stained with blood at the gums. It’d taken nearly a year before I could sleep without a light on.

It’s weird how little details resurface out of the blue; things you don’t remember, but creep back as vivid as if it’d just happened. His feet were one of those. My knees had given out, and I’d just collapsed in the sand. You’d think I would’ve tried to run. For the longest time I beat myself over not being able to. I just dropped, and pissed myself. When I opened my eyes, I saw it’s feet: The second toe was longer than the big one, and the pinkie toe curled under the one beside it. The joints were knobby, like it had bunions. Just like his feet. From too small shoes, and years of pointe, he’d explained. 

I’d said his name, and he recognized me. There was no way he didn’t. Those eyes weren’t like an animal’s; they were human, and just as expressive as his. I’d curled up, waiting for the first bite that never came. When I finally peeked, it was gone. All that remained was a strong odor: A musky smell, like a dog on a hot day, and the faint scent of citrus. Ever since I’d bought him a bottle of Obsession for men, he wore it daily.

Why didn’t he kill me? That was a question I asked myself so many times since then.

After that night I decided I’d saved enough. It wasn’t enough to make it more than two, maybe three semesters at FSU, but I’d figure it out. After walking home in damp shorts, with sand stuck to my thighs, I packed everything. Papa was asleep, and never heard me crying in the shower. I told him that morning that after I get paid on Friday, I was flying to Tallahassee. I blew it off and something shitty happening at work.

Aleksei was working during my last night on the pole. I couldn’t bring myself to look in that direction. Since that night, I’d flaked on our usual hang outs. I ignored his calls. I avoided him during breaks, and stayed away from the east end.

I tried to leave unnoticed, but he caught me out in the parking lot. I’d nearly screamed when he touched my shoulder. He pushed a wad of cash wrapped in a rubber band to me and closed my hands over it. “For school,” he said. When I finally looked at his face, his eyes were sad. It broke my heart and terrified me all at once.

He hugged me then, and I froze. All I could smell was Obsession, and a faint tinge of that animal stink. I never looked back.

After I got home, all I could do was stare at all that cash on my bed. There was just over three thousand dollars, and it was spread out on my pink duvet. I knew he’d been saving money to try and go back home, and here it was. The treacherous part of my mind told me he was paying for my silence, but I knew better. That knowledge made it all the more painful.

When I came home before my final semester, the club was under new management. The vibe was different, and the girls working looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. When I tracked Maria down at the Atlantis Inn off Sunset, she told me Hector had just suddenly vanished. Most of the girls left when the new guy took over. “There’s something shady going on,” she told me in hushed tones, as if she was scared someone was listening. “All of the girls had the same tattoo on their hip, like it was a cult or something.”

Sex trafficking was more likely. I asked her what happened to Aleksei.

“He left before Hector disappeared. Brandi overheard that he’d gotten some contract job. Something with computers, I think. He lives over at the Blue Heron now.” She said she still sees him every so often, when she makes rounds at the bars to make some extra cash.

Three days before my flight back, I found myself at the door to 4-34B. It was a quiet place. The condos were reserved mostly for vacationing families. They weren’t high dollar, like the ones on the main strip, but still way out of the range for most folks. It was a huge step up from the one bedroom Buena Vista apartment he’d been living in before I left.

My palms were sweaty, and I thought about running the second I knocked. I didn’t know if I could face him like this. I didn’t know if all I’d see was the monster on the beach.

As soon as he opened the door, I hugged him. He still wore Obsession, even after three years away. We stood there, with the door pressed against his back and my forearms. On my tip toes, my face was pressed into his long neck. All of the guilt that twisted me up over how I left was poured into that hug.

Despite the changes, he knew me right away. There was no explaining myself; no invasive questions; no remarks on my patchy beard, and sparse mustache. It was if I’d never left. We fell right back into our usual routine. He felt more like home than anything else. The only difference was he called me by a new name, and his English was better.

Before I found out he was gay, I’d tried to kiss him. I’d only been dancing for a few days, and he was the first guy who wasn’t a creep. When he offered to walk me home after a customer gave me a hard time, I tried to repay him. He’d gently pushed me away. It was over lemon cookies dipped in spiced tea that I learned why he’d rejected my advances.

When I kissed him now, he didn’t pull back. I was scared for a moment that, like the other men I’d tried to hook up with, he’d be put off by my body. So many seemed cool with sleeping with me at first, but when the binder came off, and the underwear came down, suddenly I was like an alien. Aleksei only had some trouble getting the binder over my head. We both ended up winded and laughing on the bed, while one of my arms was trapped beside my head.

Eventually I was freed, and he was on my dick like a fucking pro. When I pushed him back to get at his jeans, I found out those Speedo bikini briefs he liked to wear, actually left a lot to the imagination. Like, a good nine inches to the imagination. “Jesus, where… how have you been hiding that?”

For a while I forgot my fear. My world was his skin, the hair that clung to his damp neck, and tangled in the gold chain around it. St. Christopher was warm against my palm as I stroked the thick hair on his chest. When I kissed him, I saw little traces of gray in the dark hair above his ears, but that mustache was still just as jet black as it’d always been.

It wasn’t until my nose was touching his belly that everything came screaming back in the worst way. The musky odor suddenly overwhelmed my senses, and all I could see was dark fur. If I looked up, would I see that thing staring down at me? I choked on his cock and came away coughing.

Aleksei, and not the monster, asked if I was alright. I waved it off as going down at a bad angle. It wasn’t a lie that I didn’t have experience with deep throating a cock that big. He still got up to get me a glass of water. It gave me time to wipe the tears and snot off my face. This is Aleksei, I told myself over and over. Monster or not, this was still the man who would cook my favorite meal after a bad day, and surprised me with a birthday cake after he’d learned I hadn’t had one since mama passed. This was the same Aleksei who gave me three grand, just so I could have some breathing room to focus on school.

He sat beside me while I drank, and caught my breath. He always had such good posture. I used to think it was because he was uncomfortable, or nervous. Apparently a decade of ballet kinda drills that poise into you. It’d ruined his feet though.

We lay in bed for a while after that. I appreciated it, but couldn’t help but wonder if he knew the real reason I was so nervous. Books and movies vary so widely on how much, if anything, a werewolf remembers during the full moon. The thought that he consciously decided to kill people made me nauseated. How do you decide who lives and who dies? How do you live with yourself?

His fingers are in my hair. I’d cut it all off when I first started transitioning, then realized I missed my hair a lot. It was just barely touching my shoulders now. The sensation was relaxing. Normally I didn’t like people putting their hands in my hair, but Aleksei had always been an exception. He could twist my hair into the sleekest buns.

Aleksei’s forefinger and middle finger are the same length. I never noticed how weird it looked, until I started hyper focusing on his features to avoid meeting his eyes. As if sensing my reluctance, he told me we didn’t have to do anything, if I wasn’t feeling up for it.

My stomach does flip flops when I finally looked at him. He was so fucking gorgeous, in that strange way of people with strong features. I don’t want to stop. I just wish the monster would stop lurking in the back of my head. In stead of telling him that, I lie about being self conscious over my figure. It was bullshit, and I think he knew that. Of all the people in my life, Aleksei was the one I feel most comfortable around while naked. He’d seen me in all states of undress while I danced. I’d showered in his apartment with the door open a few times, just so we could keep our conversation going.

Resting my head on his chest, I can feel his heart pounding like mine.

There was less urgency when I coaxed him over me, and he seemed almost shy. The intimacy of it was new to me. I’d never been with someone so in tune to my body, and considerate of what I preferred. It wasn’t until afterwards that I learned he didn’t typically top.

As I lay there, fighting against the urge to sleep, the thought struck me: I’d been exposed to his spit and cum. Movies waffled between bites and scratches passing lycanthropy. His teeth had grazed my skin, but he’d never fully bitten down on the fingers in his mouth. I held up my hand, and under the soft neon glow filtering in from the curtain slats, I stared at the slight imprint of his teeth on my forefinger.

He shifted and rolled onto his side. I wasn’t able to snatch my hand back beneath the covers before he opened his eyes. The red light cast his sharp features in harsh shadow. Before I could come up with a lame excuse, he told me not to worry. I’d heard him say this before, when I hid in the break room from aggressive customers. “Don’t worry,” in that heavy accent. It had meant everything to me to hear him say that, because I knew I wouldn’t have to. He’d take care of whatever bothered me. Just now, what bothered me was something I was scared couldn’t be fixed.

His arm wrapped around me, and I leaned into him. Sweating had made that musky odor stronger, and it was all around me: On my skin, and absorbed into the fabric. I’d thought about getting up to rinse off, but I was scared that if I got out of bed now, I’d run again. I didn’t want to run away. He was a monster before we met, I told myself, and it didn’t affect how he treated me. The desire to ask him about it fought against the dread of hearing the truth, or a denial. What saved me was the deep breaths that puff against the back of my neck. He’d fallen back asleep.

The next morning he cooked breakfast. Normally he’d just have a bowl of yogurt with some fruit and granola. If he was feeling fancy, he’d drizzle honey over it. The warm weather made hot breakfasts a miserable affair in his old apartment. The tiny kitchen and den would get so warm, you wouldn’t have any appetite left.

The condo had tile floors and central air. I didn’t realize just how quiet Aleksei actually was until the constant hum of an overworked window unit was absent. When I stumbled out of the bedroom, he was in the kitchen in some gray sweatpants and socks. He had shitty circulation in his legs, so his feet got cold easily. He was also self conscious about how they looked.

Whatever was on the stove smelled amazing. As I sat on one of the stools against the counter, I saw he’d made two of my favorites: Those little cottage cheese pancake things, and eggs fried with kolbasa and dill. We drank coffee while stuffing ourselves with greasy food, and orange marmalade.

I’d nearly forgotten the anxiety that ate me up last night. The half formed plan to confront him got pushed away by eggs topped with sour cream. The moment never felt right, and in stead, I talk about what I’m planning to take for my final semesters. “I don’t know if I should go for a masters, though.”

He shrugged, “a masters is no guarantee for a job, but if you want it, do it.” He knew from experience. A masters in computer science from fucking Diderot, and at 37, he was just now doing work involving computers. Exactly what, I’m not sure. When I asked, he said: “They ask me to find things.”

I stayed with him until my departure date. Those three days grew less and less nerve wracking. I didn’t want to leave, and when I thought about the impending flight my chest would hurt.

The evening before, I wanted to go out. I wanted to know what it felt like to have a normal date. To not be some guy’s dirty little secret he hid from his friends. Even though I passed, I still felt nervous going out. With Aleksei it was different. The dirty looks didn’t matter, because we were having fun. Like, I even went to the clothing optional beach with him, and didn’t bind.

Sure, we got stared at, because it was obvious we weren’t just two friends having dinner. It was even more obvious when we stopped at the adult shop a block off the main strip. There was something inherently taboo about these places. I grew up being told this sort of place was for men and whores. I’m the former now, but I still felt strangely guilty for standing in front of a wall of dildos.

My ears were burning when Aleksei told me to pick out one, from a row of intimidating looking strap ons. I barely squeaked out that I didn’t think they’d fit.

When he leaned down and whispered: “Which would you like to use on me,” it went straight to my dick. That was the first time I was glad not to have been born with one, because getting aroused was much easier for me to hide.

Anticipation tied my guts in knots on the way back. Thankfully it was a short trip from 3rd Street to the Blue Heron. Being pressed against him, and the vibration from the old cafe racer he loved to drive was like foreplay. My underwear was getting wet, and I wanted nothing more than to fuck him the second we pulled into the parking deck.

Before he could finish getting his leg over the saddle, I pulled him down for a kiss. He’d nearly lost his balance, and stumbled into me. Grabbing him by the jeans, I was able to keep us both from crashing to the concrete.

My fingers brushed against what I initially thought was his wallet, until I remembered he kept it in the front pocket. It dawned on me then, why he’d eaten so uncharacteristically light. When I pressed against the base of the plug, he ground his hips into my lower belly. I felt the bulge of his stiffening cock straining against his tight jeans.

The wait was torture. Not only did we have to get to the fourth floor of the furthest tower, he needed to boil some water to clean the toy. I backed him into the kitchen counter, and teased his erection through the fabric.

This was such a far cry from our first night. The monster’s face still lurked on the outskirts. It was still something I was scared of, but whatever danger it posed was kept in check by Aleksei. From the floor, I glanced up and met his eyes. They are the same as they were that night, but the way he looked at me wasn’t frightening. It filled me with anticipation as I unzipped his jeans, and ran my tongue along the exposed shaft. 

I didn’t want tonight to end. He looked so beautiful beneath me, and I knew he was close even before I pushed the head of the dildo into him. There was a perk to working that club. Despite the degrading moments, the glitter, the blisters from the pole and cheap heels, I’d learned some handy tricks. Juanita taught me how to keep a guy from blowing his load on your face. There’s a place to squeeze, and it lets him cum without shooting. She said it’s great for edging a guy, if you wanted some extra cash for going overtime.

When I thought Aleksei was getting ready to pop off, I gripped his cock and fucked him through it. Twice more I denied him, until he was begging me. At least I assume he was begging, because he’d stopped using English long before that. I did recognize a few words; “please” being one of them.

I drew him up into my lap, and let him cum then. With his cock pressed against our stomachs, and his temple against mine, he came with a shaky groan. His breath felt cool against my damp skin.

The intimacy and intensity made it all the more painful when I realized there were only twelve hours left. When he told me “goodnight” I cracked. It all just came pouring out. Aleksei was taken aback at first, at least until I barely managed to coherently get out why I was crying.

I wanted to be angry. I wanted to ask him about that night, and I wanted him to confirm every fear I had. If he’d confirm every dark place my mind took me for months after that encounter, then leaving wouldn’t be so hard. In stead I cried, and smeared tears and snot all over his chest and shoulder.

It must’ve exhausted me. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I woke up to the smell of coffee. My eyes were so puffy I could barely see the mug he’d set down on the nightstand for me. He was wearing some black boxers, and calf socks that were pulled up as far as they’d go.

My papa had called before dawn, he told me. He’d just wanted to let me know he got stuck on first shift, so if I wanted to come say goodbye, to swing by the Hilton. Aleksei offered to take me there in time for his scheduled lunch break.

Part of me wanted to call Mrs. Horne, and let her know I needed a few more days. It wasn’t like the library would be hurting without me. I could make up something about papa being sick. He’s getting old, and would need someone around the house until he was feeling better. I wanted more time. I wanted to see him during the full moon.

I held it together until we got to the airport. I don’t care how many people stare when I kissed him goodbye.

This time I promised to call.


	2. Mabe: Fall of 1999

Sausage gave me a lead to look into. Sheriff Sausage. God, I’m still not used to that, and neither is he. He didn’t even want to run for election, and probably couldn’t, since he didn’t get a new visa after graduation. Didn’t stop the town from electing him though. Guess they turned a blind eye to that, because their other option was Whitby.

Holly’d made the sign as a joke: “Vote Jodiah Tracy Rausdottir. He’s the only one who knows how the computers work.” Well, the joke became a reality when he ended up on the ballot, and then won by a landslide. He was so pissed.

I had to hide my “I’m for Zap” pin that Holly and Troy’d handed out. He’d never forgive me for wearing it.

The office hadn’t changed since Andy passed. The only difference was the right desk drawer was filled with Oreos in stead of Moonpies. He usually tossed me a pack when I visited, which wasn’t often now. I felt bad, but we both had shit to deal with.

Jodes filled me in on a gnarly case that went down in Miami a few weeks ago. The BTG had shot up some low level drug traffickers, along with a good handful of innocent bystanders at a night club. That wasn’t what he wanted me to look into; it was the retaliation. The headline described the scene as a bloodbath out of a horror movie. The article posited that one of the other gangs were likely responsible, but Jody pulled up the crime scene photos. The bodies were shredded, and a few were partially eaten.

I know what werewolf attacks look like. I’d contributed to a couple of unsolved cases in Wisconsin a while back. This one was fucking brutal. Twelve dead, and the only thing damaged were their computers. The towers were ripped open, the motherboards removed, along with some random parts. Meaning someone was gathering information. So the werewolf probably had an accomplice, or a crew who cleaned up afterwards.

This was way out of our jurisdiction, if we even had one of those. Something about how organized it was bothered him. This was also way more serious than what I usually got sent to check out. He still sent me off with the keys to a rental car, and some cash to cover the trip and a room for two weeks, if I was careful. He put way too much faith in my money management skills.

  
I knew investigating was mostly boring work with long hours. What I didn’t anticipate was just how hard it would be. Breaking into the crime scene was easy enough. The cannery only employed one security guard to patrol the entire perimeter, and shift changes were every eight hours. Just one, dumpy dude in an ill fitting uniform was all that was between me and an eight foot chain link fence.

The floor where the massacre took place had been wiped clean. It still smelled like bleach and that sort of metallic warehouse funk. That stuck out more than anything. There was no lingering werewolf smell, not even a faint whiff of it. Whoever cleaned this place up knew what they were doing.

It was a clue that the werewolf very likely worked with others. The downside was it gave me nothing to work with. I had nothing to follow. So I did what I thought Jody’d do in this situation: Hit the bars. Not the touristy bars near the hotels, but the local dives. You know, catch some gossip, maybe find someone with lips loosened up by the night’s special.

No one told me about Miami’s gay scene. Back home you had to drive all the way to Charlotte or Asheville to find a gay bar. I walk into this one place and just wow. If I’d uncovered anything, it was gone the next morning as I puked up a bunch of blue food coloring in the sink. I don’t know what the hell was in those Tropicanas, but I knew it was neon blue, orange, and tasted like mango and pineapple.

The chick I vaguely remember taking back to the room was long gone. She’d taken off with my favorite shirt, a couple of hundreds, and left behind a bottle of Visine on the nightstand. Explained the violent puking. Jody’d told me about a trick he’d used a few times: Put some eye drops in a john’s drink. It’d knock them right out, so you can make off with money or your life. Well, now I was down a quarter of my allowance, and still had over a week left before I was due back.

My first instinct was to call Jodes, but I wanted to prove I was reliable, even if I wasn’t the most reliable friend. I hated disappointing him. So I held off. I’ll only call if I absolutely have no other resource available.

To stretch what I had left, I’d check out a few days early so I’d have enough cash for the gas home. It also meant cutting the food budget. Fucking food budget. I’ve never had to budget until now.I did as much investigating on foot as I could. I took buses to save on gas. Nothing was turning up any leads.

I even hunted down a bar that had no name and no windows. It was a strictly gay men only type place. I got turned away at the door, but snuck around back. Made it past the bathrooms before I got kicked out. There was no werewolf smell there, though. So I didn’t try again.

  
The day before I was supposed to start the drive back to North Carolina I got a hit. I’d gone to the mall to drown my sorrows in cheap pizza and free soda refills. Maybe I’d find a shirt to bring back for Jody and Troy, so I wouldn’t be coming home completely empty handed.

As I waited in line at Venero’s, I smelled it: The bear-like werewolf funk. It was faint, almost drowned out by all the food smells, cleaner, and various perfumes. Tray in hand, with my sad single slice of plain cheese and a small Coke, I scanned the tables pretending to look for a spot. Over by the Golden Dragon, I found him: Mr. Mustache.

The guy glanced up, and Jesus Christ his eyes were gorgeous. Like lashes that most chicks would kill for, and the prettiest light green. They were striking. We shared that “oh hey, fellow werewolf” look.

This was probably the only chance I had, so fuck it. I sat across from him, bumping against his long, skinny legs. “N-nice shirt, man.” Smooth stutter, dipshit. But it was a nice shirt, a button down short sleeve number with a tasteful Hawaiian print. It wasn’t too loud, or obnoxious looking. Classy like.

He thanked me. I couldn’t place his accent at all, and blurted out “so where are you from?” like a fucking moron.

Mr. Mustache kept it vague with “Russia,” not that any elaboration would do me any good. All I knew about that country was what I remembered from Red Heat. So I didn’t press him for anything else for fear of sounding stupid.

I woofed down the pizza to keep the impulse to question him at bay. I didn’t want to be too obvious. This only reminded me that I wish I had more food. The two banana nut muffins I’d snitched from the Econolodge continental breakfast hadn’t lasted long. It took a lot not to eye the Mongolian beef, and half eaten egg roll on his tray.

Mr. Mustache wasn’t overly chatty, and his voice was soft. Like an artificial softness. Not deceptively, but more of a “I don’t want to be intimidating” sort of thing. But something in his tone told me that if he wanted to be heard, he’d be fucking heard.

He didn’t even introduce himself, but neither had I. To be honest, I’d forgotten to. I couldn’t stop stealing glances at him. Something about him just was nice. Like real fucking nice. How his long, dark hair had some gray around the temples; his thick mustache was curled at the ends with a soul patch under his lip. He had maybe a day or two’s worth of stubble on his cheeks that really made his cheekbones stand out. He looked fucking fancy, with a comfortable sort of femininity.

I barely caught his name as he got up to return his tray. Aleksei. ”Uh, Mabe.” I fumbled in response. “Hey, w-where did you get that shirt?” God, I couldn’t stop stuttering.

In stead of simply telling me, he offered to show me. “It’s on the way out,” he offered with a sharp toothed smile. His right upper canine was longer than normal, and his lower teeth were crooked in a way that made them look pointed. If he wasn’t so chill, it would’ve been downright predatory.

I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to. Standing up he was tall, and moved with grace for someone who looked so gangly. He wasn’t Jody tall, but enough that he was pretty easy to find in a crowd. I didn’t pay attention to the store we walked into, I was caught up in him. In his smell. He stank of werewolf, of course, but he had on a citrusy cologne which complimented that musky odor, rather than mask it. I also caught a very faint tinge of cigarettes. He smoked, but not regularly. I caught sight of the rectangular bulge of a pack in his back pocket. I wonder what brand he liked.

It wasn’t until he pulled a shirt off the rack that I realized we weren’t anywhere I belonged. Aleksei held up a navy blue number, with a nice orange and orange blossom print. He told me the blue would make my eyes stand out more, and contrasted with my hair. I’d just grabbed a black one with big red hibiscus flowers and palm fronds because it looked cool.

I caught sight of the price tag that dangled from the sleeve. When I looked at the label in disbelief, I realized we were in Tommy motherfucking Bahama. I didn’t have that sort of money. Shit, I didn’t even have J.C. Penny money right now. I gotta play it cool. I’m not sweating because he’s hot, and this shirt costs the same amount as the gas it’d take to get back home. Nope. It’s just warm in here. I’m used to the cool Blue Ridge weather is all.

Thankfully in the dressing room I could collapse on the bench, and try to figure out what to do. I stare at the two shirts hanging on the pegs in front of me. One black, one blue. I’m scared to even put them on. I was sweating bullets, and terrified that I’d be forced to buy them if my pits touched the fabric. Aleksei was probably expecting me to step out and let him see how they looked.

I tried the blue on first, and shit, he was right. It looked real fucking nice. Plus it had two oranges strategically printed over my tits. Holly’d get a kick out of that.

When I stepped outside, no one was there. I asked the chick folding clothes if she’d seen where he’d gone: “Tall dude, long hair, Dracula mustache?”

“Oh, yeah, I think he stepped out to use the bathroom.”

I rushed back to the changing room. My old tee was shoved in the back of my jeans as I took off. There were too many buttons, and time was short. I ran out towards the bathrooms before anyone could catch me as the alarm went off.

I caught sight of him over near the Macy’s, pretty damn far from the bathrooms. He was fucking ditching me. Look, folks have bailed on me before. I’m used to it, but this was suspicion as hell. I was on my best behavior, wasn’t I? It wasn’t like I’d scratched myself, or acted like an ugly American.

Fighting the crowds without causing a scene was tough. I couldn’t just haul ass and shove folks out of the way, or he’d know I was on his tail. Plus it’d get the attention of the mall cops. Even power walking, I couldn’t catch him. By the time I got outside, I saw a red Mustang pulling out. The bastard even waved with a friendly smile, as he put on a pair of aviators.

I didn’t catch the plate number, but I saw the rental sticker on the window. At least I knew where to start looking.

  
There’s not a lot I can say that I’m proud of in life. Owning up to my lies to Jody’s face was one. I got punched for it, but at least I’d fessed up. I’m real fucking proud of what I accomplished that afternoon though. Enough that I almost called Jody early, but decided to hold off in case it resulted in a dead end.

I got to the rental office and managed to bullshit my way into using their computers. I name dropped Sheriff Rausdottir, and lied that I was part of a private investigation firm contracted out by the local PD. It was a low priority case, so no big rush, I was just trying to find a person of interest and knew they rented a car from this location. Nothing juicy, just a little civil dispute sort of thing.

Thankfully the guy didn’t ask for a warrant, or to see any proof of ID. I think he was just looking for an excuse not to be tied to the phone. It rang the entire time I was scrolling through their records. Lucky for me they only had a few red Mustangs on rotation. I had to go through each one and look at the scanned in driver’s license.

I got a hit on the fifth one. A 1996 Ford Mustang convertible, rented out to an Alex Lennon. It had a weird phone number, and a local delivery address attached. When I dialed the number, a voice that didn’t belong to Aleksei answered. I couldn’t tell if they were a guy or a chick, but they had a French accent. I apologized for the wrong number and hung up.

Before I headed out, I used the computer to look up where the address was. Got the directions printed, and took off. I had a real lead now. There was this excitement that just sort of bubbled up. Now I kinda understood why Troy liked researching shit.

The neighborhood the address was in was a nice little suburban development. Picture perfect bungalows, with nice little yards and clean sidewalks. A couple of houses even had orange trees. Which meant I had to be careful. This was a neighborhood watch community. If you looked out of place, some nosy old lady was going to start making calls. Luckily I had a nice shirt, and the car Jody’d rented out for me was a Camry. It was white, and about as nondescript as you can get. When I pulled up to a stop sign, I tied my hair back so it wasn’t obvious that I hadn’t showered in a few days.

The address was at the end of a cul-de-sac, and in the driveway sat the red Mustang. I felt giddy as I drove past. I found a house that was empty, and parked in front but not in the driveway, in case someone actually lived there. Aleksei’s place was right up against the woods, so I walked up to the empty place’s side door like I belonged there. From there I ducked down and dashed across a few yards towards the woods.

  
Hunkered down in the gross ass Florida woods, I watched the house. It fucking sucked. There were mosquitoes everywhere, and I’m pretty sure I’d be finding ticks in my cooch next time I shower.

Aleksei was boring for the most part. Nothing exciting happened until sunset. He was in some front room for a long time. I had to watch him watch TV for like only fifteen minutes, then he fell asleep on the couch. I was feeling it too. That bone deep fatigue that starts to set in before the full moon. It’s worse the day of. That’s why I was supposed to be on the road today, so I could make it back to Pine Hollow in time. But man, this was my only chance to get anything on this guy.

Even if he wasn’t the wolf, at least I could rule him out. Show Jodes I actually did some investigating.

The phone started ringing after sunset, waking him up. When he answered I saw him genuinely smile, all sleepy eyed and infuriatingly sexy. I hated that fluttery feeling in my chest when I looked at him. He had a huge nose, he was all legs and arms, and had no ass. He looked like a fucking stork, and wore an old man gold chain for fuck’s sake! But man, those eyes and that voice. That stupid, sexy accent.

Johnny was my only exception and he didn’t count. Our thing was strictly for full moon nights, and I barely remembered it afterwards. I love women, and I love pussy even more. So unless Aleksei was like Jodes, then he had no business making me feel like this.

I held my breath when he walked out onto the patio. I wish I’d brought a recorder, because he was speaking French, I think. It definitely wasn’t Russian, because I could pick out a handful of words that were kinda close to Spanish. If I had a recorder I could bring it back to Jody to translate. It might not be anything important, but I desperately wanted to know who made him smile like that.

Aleksei bent down and rolled up his jeans to just under the knees. He pulled off his socks, and I saw how bony and weird his feet looked. Even from this distance the joints looked knobby as hell, and some of his toes were crooked. He crossed his legs at the ankles in the water, as if he was hiding them.

I leaned against the pine bark and watched him talk. There was a shift in tone, and his voice dropped so I couldn’t make anything out. I knew that tone. Holly and I used to try the whole sexy talk over the phone, since she was uncomfortable with sex in person.

That was when I should’ve gone back to the car. I knew better. I knew what that sort of conversation led to. When he migrated to a pool chair, I should’ve used that window to go unnoticed. In stead I sat there transfixed.

He wasn’t like Jody down south; Aleksei was fucking packing. I knew about how big his hands were compared to mine, and tried to use that as a reference to gauge the length. After determining he was at least nine inches, I wondered what the fuck I was doing.

I was disgusted with myself. This was a whole new low for me: Sitting in the woods, covered in pine straw and bugs, watching a stranger masturbate. The worst part of it was how turned on I got. Man, this was full on pervert shit. At least I was downwind of him, so he’d never know. He’d never know, but I had to live with what I’d done.

When I got back to the car I found two ticks.

  
The next morning I waited for him to leave. He was sluggish, and I felt the same. It was only going to get worse the closer to sun down it got. I wanted to be gone before then, but I needed to look for something, anything that could potentially tie him to that massacre.

Aleksei eventually walked out wearing a t-shirt, the same light wash jeans, and his thin hair was tied back in a low ponytail. He hadn’t bothered curling that mustache, but still looked good. It was a nice shirt, with a v-neck that made his neck look even longer. I waited until the Mustang disappeared from sight before sneaking to the backyard.

Like most places here, the patio was enclosed, but it was all netting. That was easy to get around. All I had to do was slice it right next to the latch and unlock it. Just enough to get my hand through, but not enough that it’d be noticeable right away.

The bathroom window had been left open. That’s something people tend to forget about. They triple check the front door, they make sure the backdoor is locked, and maybe check the front windows. I slipped right in, and discovered that citrusy cologne was Calvin Klein Obsession. I sprayed some on my wrist and enjoyed the fanciness of it. I’d never be able to afford a bottle like that, unless someone got it for me as a gift; but who’d drop that sort of cash for me? I poked through his dopp bag, and then moved on to the bedroom.

Sadly none of his clothes would fit me. He had some killer shirts, and all his jeans were Levis. Every single pair.

I looked through every drawer, every cabinet. Nothing really stood out as evidence, but I think I may have discovered who was on the other end of that call. Tucked into a paperback copy of The Stand, was a Polaroid: It was Aleksei and another person. They were dark skinned, with long hair; longer than his, and four times as thick. They had a sparse mustache, like a teenager, and a short beard. Aleksei was leaning into the mystery person, and they both seemed to be talking to someone off camera. There was a cigarette between his fingers, and beside that hand was a glass of something fruity looking. It had a resort cafe feel, but it was too dark to make out anything in the background beyond the string lights hanging from the railing behind them.

I spent way too much time plundering. I had a mission, but I also wanted to learn more about him. Since he’d likely know I was in here, what harm would come of it? With that in mind, I didn’t hesitate to microwave some leftovers he had in the fridge. It was the other half of a jerk chicken sub, and man, it was good. After not eating dinner, and only having a pack of nabs for breakfast, this sub was like a five fucking star meal.

He also had some ginger beer in the fridge door. I popped the cap on one, and wandered around the house. I found the laundry closet, and guest bathroom. Nothing really of interest here except some boxer briefs. A dark little part of my brain wanted to take them, but I wasn’t going to stoop to that level of gross. I’d just gotten comfortable living with my life choices, and I wasn’t about to fuck that up just yet.

Finally I checked that room, the one he vanished into the day before, and struck gold. It was the guest bedroom, but he’d been using it like an office. The tv was laying on floor by the closet, and the dresser now served as a pseudo desk. He’d pulled it away from the wall so he could use the bed as a seat.

I didn’t know shit about computers other than how to turn it on and off, and how to find porn. So I tried turning the computer on, and it was just my luck that it was passworded. I tried a few simple ones: Password, 1234abcd, shit like that. Eventually it gave me the three attempts remaining, so I just turned it back off.

Because there were motherboards missing from the scene, I contemplated trying to take that from the computer, but realized I had no idea what one looked like. As I scrounged for anything more portable that could link him to the killings, a flash of light caught my eye. The Mustang’s windshield reflected the afternoon sun as he turned down the street. Fuck. In a panic I just picked up the entire tower and yanked it until the cords came free. The monitor crashed to the floor, and damn near nailed my foot.

When I got back to the bathroom window, I heard the front door open and close. I hucked that tower out the window, and cringed as it clattered against the concrete tiles. He knew shit was up now, because I heard him shout. It was a deep, authoritative, very unfriendly sound, and sent my heart racing. As I scrambled out the window, I felt a strong grip around my ankle, pulling me back inside.

I started kicking blindly, and heard a grunt. The hand released my ankle and I landed face first on the patio. My cheek was scraped all to hell, my nose was bleeding, and my lip was probably busted. I grabbed the tower and bolted for the woods.

I skirted the outside of the backyards, looking for an opening that didn’t require me to hop any fences. I was too scared to look back, for fear of seeing him. Thankfully there was a narrow gap between two bungalows pretty close to where I’d parked.

My hands were shaking from the effort of carrying the heavy tower, and the adrenaline from the near miss. As I hit the unlock button I happened to look up and see him clear a fence like a god damned deer. I hurled the tower into the passenger seat and fumbled with the key. Eventually I got it into the ignition and started it. I threw it in reverse and hit the gas hard, slinging the computer to the floorboard as I tried to put as much distance between him and me.

Good Christ, my heart would not slow down, even as I hit the highway. I was shaking all over, and eventually was forced to stop at a Shell station for gas. It was getting dangerously close to sundown. As I used the pay phone near the bathrooms, I kept checking over my shoulder, expecting to see that Mustang pull up.

Jody finally fucking answered, and I told him what happened, and what I had. Hearing his voice was reassuring. I felt like I could breathe again as he told me to find a motel close to the highway, and to make sure I parked the car out of sight of the main road. He told me to just hole up for the night, and he’d meet me half way. Originally he was going to meet me in Savannah, but I asked if Jacksonville would be okay. Thank Christ he said “alright, dude. See you then.”

He hung up, and I muttered “love you, Jodes” to the dial tone.

I grabbed some sodas and snacks, then went in search of a cheap motel. I found one a little ways off the highway across from a McDonalds. It was the type of place that also charged by the hour if you needed that sort of thing. I parked behind the place, and hurried to my room.

The door was latched, the chain was in place, and I made sure the bathroom was closed off. There was a small window in there. It looked too small for my wolf to fit through, but I didn’t want to chance it. The TV would hopefully keep me occupied, or at least the noise of it would mask whatever sounds I made.

I just hoped my neighbors don’t get loud. That sort of thing would get my wolf riled up, and I didn’t want to risk that happening.

  
The first thing I became aware of was the water up my nose. I snorted, and sputtered, trying to get my hands and knees under me. That was when a heavy weight pressed between my shoulders, shoving me back down. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, and everything hurt.

I struggled weakly, and right as I thought I was going to pass out, something lifted me up. As my vision cleared, and the world came into focus, I found myself staring at Aleksei. The only reason I knew it was him were those eyes. Those pretty eyes, one slightly higher than the other. His snout was long, and a little off center. His nostrils were lopsided, and flared as he took a wheezing breath. All werewolves were twisted up in their own special way. We’re monsters born of curses or misfortune. Aleksei was beautiful despite this, and terrifying. I hung from his grip like a rag doll. There was no point in fighting. He was still a wolf, and I wasn’t. I just steeled myself for the inevitable. Would he go for the heart or head?

He went for neither. I heard him growl out something that sounded a lot like “you”, and then he dropped me into the creek. Aleksei’s shift was fluid and quick. Soon he stood before me, naked, and panting. He regained his composure pretty quick, but I could see how his limbs trembled from the effort. I was also able to see a couple of claw marks. At least I’d gotten a few good hits in. He was also sporting a black eye, which I’m pretty sure was from earlier.

He grabbed me by the bicep and hauled me to my feet. “Where is it?” Up close I could see the blood dried in his mustache and staining his teeth.

I tried to play it coy with a “where’s what?”

He never raised his voice, he never hit me. In stead he went for public humiliation. He dragged me back to the motel, both of us naked. I was covered in mud and blood, and his hands were streaked with it. It wasn’t until a car honked at us that I felt the blood rush to my cheeks.

He shoved me into the room, and I tripped over a fallen chair. The room looked like it’d been turned upside-down. Everything had been torn to pieces, except one chair. On it, folded neatly, were his clothes. I didn’t see my backpack, so if I tried to run when he went to the bathroom to rinse off, I’d be making the drive back completely naked. I did legitimately consider that as I listened to the sound of the faucet.

In stead, I sat on the edge of the bed and tried not to cry. The claw marks that crisscrossed my thighs and back itched and burned. He’d bitten me twice, once on the back of the neck, and again on the forearm. I was scared, and he was too calm. Way too calm for the state of the room, and how did my neighbors not hear it?

It occurred to me then just how quiet it was. Aleksei stepped out of the bathroom, dressed and clean. The only signs that he felt just as shitty as me, were the dark circles under his eyes, and how stiff he moved. I heard his knees pop as he pulled the chair up and sat in front of me. “I’ll ask you once more, where is it?”

There was nothing I could do. I had nothing on him, except that this pretty much confirmed he was the one. The control he had as a wolf was unnerving. I’d never seen anyone like that before. It scared me, because it meant he consciously killed those people. He’d hunted me down across Miami for a computer.

I didn’t want to show him how scared I was, but as I told him, my voice broke. In between sobs I pointed him towards the closet; where I’d hidden it in the creepy little crawlspace, behind a piece of plywood.

I could see him frowning at a frayed wire still attached to the back of the tower from where I’d just ripped it free. In stead of leaving, he used the room phone. I had no idea what he was saying, but it was short, and to the point.

When he hung up, Aleksei brought me a wet cloth. “Who sent you?”

I almost asked him “what”, but as it started leaving my mouth, I winced. “No one,” I lied. I told him I’d just seen the article, and it made me curious. I’d taken the computer because I knew people better with them than I was. A part of me hoped the half truth would mask the bullshit.

It didn’t. “You’re a terrible liar, Mabe, but,” he straightened in his seat. “You’re obviously not a professional.”

That hurt worse than anything else. That he didn’t even consider me a threat. I was just a bumbling loser that inconvenienced him.

A van pulled up not long after that phone call. They set to work cleaning my neighbors’ rooms. I saw the black bags, and the bodily heft to the them. Explained why it was so quiet. I watched in a daze as they stuffed a blood stained stuffed rabbit in one of the bags.

Some chick with a medical mask on and a soothing southern accent treated my wounds. She cleaned and bandaged them, not seeming to mind I was naked and stinking of creek mud.

I didn’t bother trying to shower. I didn’t even turn the room key in. The manager might be dead too, and I didn’t want to see that. I got dressed and left the second they let me go.

  
When I saw Jody’s Bronco pull into the rest stop at the state line, I started crying again. I couldn’t stop it. He didn’t ask where the computer was, he didn’t ask what happened. He just put an arm around me and let me ride it out.

Just being next to him and listening to CCR was enough. I was safe. I was going home. It would be okay. I was okay.

It wasn’t until we stopped at a Cracker Barrel that I finally was able to tell him everything. He wasn’t mad, he wasn’t even disappointed. He was just glad I was in one piece.

I had to lie to the waitress, and say my eyes were puffy because I’d been cat sitting. The real story would be too unbelievable anyway. I imagine she knew it was bullshit. I recognized that “sure, honey” smile. She brought us some extra biscuits and molasses, and didn’t charge us for the drinks. 


	3. Dior: The Winter of 1985

I shut the bathroom door and pushed the pathetic little lock button on the handle. There were no windows, and no where else to run. I climbed into the tub and pulled the flimsy curtain shut. My back was pressed against the cold tiles as I cowered in the dark. I could only hide and hope it passed. There was no outrunning it, no fighting it, and no fooling it.

The door exploded, and light from the hall brightened the curtain, revealing long shadows. A dark shape, and wheezing breath filled the doorway. I covered my mouth to try and stifle my breathing, as long, clawed fingers curled around the edge of the curtain. The rings pinged across the tile as my cover was ripped from the rod. 

I jerked awake as the teeth came for my throat. With shaking hands, I fumbled for the bedside lamp, and sought comfort in the light. The alarm clock blinked 2:43 AM, and my roommate’s dog snuffled at my door. 

It’d been a while since I had one of those nightmares. Not since early October, when I’d decided to make the plan to confront the monster. Maybe that had something to do with it. The full moon was in four days, and my flight home departed this afternoon. Only thirteen hours left to decide whether I wanted to go through with this or not. 

I wiped my eyes with sweaty palms, and took a deep breath. Aleksei didn’t know I’d taken finals early. He assumed I’d be going out with some friends, so we’d miss our evening call. My lie was I’d be going to a group study after class, then meeting up with Brandy, Tom, and Aquailus to go bar hopping. 

My first instinct was to call him. I needed to hear his voice, but how do I explain what was wrong? How do I tell him: Sorry to wake you, but you scared me in a nightmare?

I dialed the number anyway. He picked up right before I was about to lose my nerve. He knew something was up right away, but didn’t pry beyond the “I had a nightmare.” In stead he asked about mundane things to take my mind off of the issue. His voice was thick, and slurred with sleep. It got worse the longer we talked, to the point where I barely understood him. Twice he started a sentence in Russian before lapsing back to French. He’d been in Saint Lucia long enough that his French had evolved into the local patois. He couldn’t lose that accent though, especially when he was tired, but that was my favorite part of his voice.

As the clock crept closer to 4 AM, Aleksei began to drop in and out. When I spoke, I heard the creak of the headboard as he jerked awake. The visual made me smile. I’d seen him do that before while reading. His chin would’ve dropped to his chest, and his grip on the receiver would’ve started to slacken. I told him I’d let him go, and that hearing his voice helped. I could hear the sleepy smile in his voice as he mumbled what sort of sounded like: “Lube loo tube ya.” 

“Love you too.”

  
During the flight I thought I was going to puke. My stomach twisted into knots from the moment I got checked in, to when we landed at Hewanorra. It finally happened on the connection to Vigie. Stuck in that tiny bathroom, I puked until my sides hurt. 

This was actually happening. There was no going back. It wasn’t like I could call my papa to come get me. He was on third shift until the new year, and was out of sick days. 

My row mate tried to turn as far away from me as he could, desperate to avoid looking at the barf bag in my lap as we started to land. He was trapped between me and the window, while the fasten your seatbelt light was on. The second the wheels touched the asphalt, I up chucked into the bag. The guy dry heaved into his fist.

Rain was falling in sheets when I got to baggage claim for my lone little duffle. I didn’t need to pack toiletries since Aleksei made sure to stock up on things I could use. He’d done this since I started hanging at his place regularly. The man had bought silk fucking pillows, after asking me why I’d pack a pillowcase in my purse. He’d never said anything. Just one night after a long shift, I walked back to his place and there they were. 

At the time I was so pissed that he was gay. No guy had ever done that. Of course, now I realize how stupid that irrational anger was. He was my best friend, and did something nice for me. He’s still my best friend. 

Every now and then I get scared, thinking he’ll leave me. That I’m not man enough. That he’s humoring me, because we’re friends. That I’m just the desperate loser who took it too far, and transitioned just to keep him. I’ve never voiced that fear, because I know deep down that it isn’t true. It doesn’t stop that train of thought from creeping up every so often. Just like the nightmares, but these thoughts felt worse. Somehow they filled me with more dread than that toothy maw that hunted me in the dark.

As the little gray cab pulled up, I hugged my bag to my chest. I’d only worn a sports bra, and hated how eyes immediately went to my tits. My binders were folded up under the shorts and shirts I’d packed. I didn’t have time to run back to the bathrooms and change.

At the Blue Heron, I nearly turned to chase the cab back down. In stead I forced my heavy legs to the elevator. In the gold tinted reflection, I looked at myself. My hair was flat in the back thanks to the flight. I should’ve wrapped my hair before leaving, but wanted to be able to hide in it. It was big, and covered just enough of my chest to make it hard to determine if I was jacked or fat. 

When I knocked, the neighbor opened his door. Some middle aged white guy with an unfortunate perm, and granny glasses. His face was blotchy with sun burn as he started grilling me about what I was doing here, and if I was selling something. I could see how he gripped the door, ready to lock it in case I stepped too close. 

Aleksei, thankfully, opened his door. I forgot the nosy neighbor as I dropped my bag, and hugged him with a “surprise.” The short, burgundy robe he wore felt silky and warm against my arms.

The reunion was off to a bad start as I heard a distinct slur from next door. Aleksei pressed a kiss to my brow, and I heard a soft, “don’t worry” against my skin. 

As he went about brewing coffee, he told me the guy owned that unit next door. He was one of those folks who’d rent it out to vacationers during the summer, and come during the winter. Aleksei’d already had a few nasty run ins with him prior to this morning. Apparently he’d called the manager, trying to get Aleksei evicted for lowering the property value. I knew the type. They were the folks who wrote letters to the Dean, trying to get the university to ban the LGBT student center.

Before I could tell him not to fix me anything, Aleksei sat a bowl of yogurt with fruit on the coffee table. My stomach was still sour from the trip, and a bunch of dairy wasn’t going to help that. Still, I made the effort to eat. Turning down offered food was as rude as slapping him in the face. I understood why that was a social rule, especially knowing that Aleksei grew up poor. If you were give food, you ate it. It didn’t matter if you didn’t like it, or weren’t hungry. The only out was a food allergy, which neither of us had. 

I did manage to feed him some of the blueberries from my bowl though. I was just a smidge heavy handed with the scoops, so some yogurt came away with it. I wiped away what had gotten in his mustache before kissing him.

Despite the heated kiss, we both fell asleep on the couch. After a brief catching up, we’d lapsed into a comfortable silence. It was enough to simply be touching after so long apart. Hearing his voice could only do so much; it was having him next to me, solid, breathing, and real. He had such a distinct smell, and it permeated his entire apartment. It was like being wrapped in a warm blanket.

There was an agreement that we could have one night stands while apart. If the urge hit, the urge hit. Phone sex could only scratch the itch so much. I’d tried it early on, but it just didn’t feel right. Not to mention I rarely got past heavy petting with most guys I’d meet. No dick was a no go for a lot of men. 

Aleksei hadn’t tried. The agency that contracted him out kept him pretty busy. He’d been running here and there, jumping islands, and even hitting the States a few times. The worst, he’d told me, was getting shipped out the some backwoods town in Texas, to help some paranormal investigators. They were doing some tv show, and their equipment had to be rigged up to fritz out without it looking like they were pressing anything. He said they were the most pretentious assholes he’d met in a while.

I remembered the article. Geoff Rogan and Mikael Johansson were found in a soy bean field, victims of an apparent bear attack. The pilot of their show aired in memorandum. A week later, it was uncovered that the two of them were part of a sex tourism ring, and had a preference for kids.

It wasn’t until mid afternoon that we finally got up and about. I could hear the neighbor’s tv through the wall. This was normal, Aleksei’d said with a distinct venom in his voice. It explained why he’d gotten a new rug to hang up. This one was thicker, and larger than the previous one; which now lay beneath the coffee table. It did muffle the din of audience laughter from whatever game show the guy was watching. 

Once we’d eaten, I unveiled my gift. It was something I’d gotten to ease the guilt over the true reason for the visit. To be fair, it was just as much of a gift for my personal benefit. 

After I’d learned about how often he frequented the women’s section in stores, I couldn’t get the image of him in lingerie out of my head. So I went out and bought some black stockings, a garter belt, and a lacy pair of panties to match. It cost more than any of the underwear I owned, including what I wore back when I danced. But I wanted them to be nice. Aleksei liked quality clothes, so I wanted them to be something he’d want to keep. This wasn’t just a one time use thing.

I sat across from him as he opened the Sak’s Fifth bag. That was the first time I’d ever seen him blush. For a second I was worried I’d missed the mark, but he leaned across the couch and kissed me. There was so much behind that kiss that it was nearly overwhelming. Especially when I caught the glassiness of his eyes when he pulled back. 

I’d been worried the panties wouldn’t fit. Aleksei had narrow hips, and a big dick; which women’s underwear didn’t really accommodate. It worked though. It worked extremely well paired with that new robe. It took some prodding to get him to unwrap the belt and show me. A pair of fuck me pumps would’ve completed the look, but pointe had fucked his feet up so bad that trying to make him wear them would’ve been cruel.

I guided him back to the closet. He looked so fucking shy in front of the full length mirror. I wrapped my arms around his waist after brushing his hair over one shoulder, so he’d stop hiding. My “see, you’re gorgeous” made him flush all the way to the tips of his ears. 

He couldn’t hold it back anymore. When he turned away from the mirror to hug me, I heard the sharp inhale of a pent up sob. 

I’d met some guys like him off campus. They weren’t trans, nor were they into drag. They just liked a blend of feminine and masculine. I’d suspected Aleksei leaned in that direction, but didn’t have the words to describe it. 

These were his silk pillows. 

I’m glad I invested in some high end panties, because his dick put them to the test. I pulled him to the bed by the each end of the belt. When I sat down, with him standing between my thighs, he was already straining against the lace. 

Three times I pause to stop him from coming. I wanted this to last longer than a blow job; longer than a few thrusts of a strap on. I wanted to see him beneath me with that hair fanned out like kelp, sweating and panting. He was always so quiet, but I’d figured out the secret to making him sing.

We ditched the underwear early on, so they wouldn’t immediately get ruined. The garter belt and stockings stayed. It gave me something to hook my fingers into as I pulled his hips back to meet mine.

  
The day of the full moon, Aleksei slept like the dead. At first I was worried he was sick, because I couldn’t rouse him at all. At most he’d get up and stagger to the bathroom, or open his eyes long enough to drink some water. He refused to eat, but I did manage to get some tea in him at lunch. 

I’d never seen Aleksei the day of a full moon. The few times he had to come in for work, he’d only stay at most 4 hours. 8 PM to midnight, and he was done. Those were the nights all the girls knew not to bother him. He’d look exhausted, and was slow to make drinks. You didn’t order mixed drinks until the next bartender took over. You got what was on tap and you liked it. 

Back then he’d do coke in the employee bathrooms, just to make it through the shift. Everyone knew. They also knew he was the one to go to if you wanted a cheap fix, because he was willing to share for a few extra bucks.

As I sat on the balcony enjoying the view of the forest, I wondered if the sleeping was some weird preservation thing; like his body conserving energy or something. I imagine it took a lot out of you to go from human shaped to not. 

I looked into the bedroom from the sliding glass door, and watched him sleep. It wasn’t that nice, peaceful sleep. The kind that makes you smile, and want to kiss them awake. It was that hard, passed out from a night of binge drinking sort of sleep. I’d’ve stayed out longer if the neighbor hadn’t come out for a smoke. I didn’t even want to share the same air as him, let alone give him time to open that mouth. 

After cleaning up the kitchen, I crawled into bed with him. As I lifted the covers, I was immediately hit with that odor from the beach. The one that my brain refused to let me forget. It made me hesitate for a moment. What if he changed in bed? Would it be violent? Would he be in control of himself?

Aleksei rolled over and draped his leg across mine. He gave off a lot of heat, but he wasn’t clammy or feverish. I finger combed his hair to occupy my hands and mind. He hadn’t brushed it since yesterday morning, and it was a rat’s nest. He never budged, even when I accidentally yanked a bad tangle. 

  
I don’t know when I fell asleep. I didn’t even remember drifting off or feeling particularly tired. When I opened my eyes it was dark, and the place where Aleksei had been was cool.

The blinds hadn’t been closed, so the faint glow of the red “units available” sign cast an ominous light over the room. Dark corners were black pockets that could hide all manners of monsters, not just the one I sought out. 

I fumbled for the bedside light switch, and chased the shadows away. Beneath a glass of water was a note in Aleksei’s slanted cursive. 

_Work called. Be back in the morning. _  
_Don’t worry._

I sniffed the glass, then chided myself for being suspicious of being drugged. Why would I even think that of him?

It struck me as I sat there, glass in hand, how quiet it was. The alarm clock slowly clicked over to 4:12 AM, and there was no faint crackle of white noise. No constant background drone permeating the apartment. The neighbor usually left the tv on all night. 

Don’t worry. That was the first thing he’d said to me. A knot started twisting up in my chest as I stared at the open bedroom door, into the dark living room. Instinctively I grabbed his robe from it’s hook on the closet door. There was comfort in the extra layer, and the cool silk. 

I stood in the space between the kitchen and living room, staring at the spot on the wall where the neighbor’s tv probably was. Carefully I approached, and pressed my ear to it. I’m not sure what was worse, the dread of hearing something, or the deathly silence I actually got. Maybe he’d gotten tired of hearing static all night, and decided sleep was more important than petty bigotry? 

The breezeway was empty when I opened the door. The blue and red of the neon heron cast the front of the tower in a humming purple haze. I didn’t know what I expected to find out here. A few lone cars could be heard on the main road, but other than that, it was quiet. 

As I reached for the handle of the neighbor’s door, I remembered fingerprints. Using the hem of my t-shirt, for fear of wrinkling the silk, I pushed down on the handle. My heart was hammering when the door opened, and I cringed at how loud it seemed. The click of the metal, the creak of the door. Everything felt amplified ten fold.

The foyer was dark, but for the purple light from outside. I could see into the living room from where I stood. Harsh shadows crept up the wall from a light near the floor. The tv lay screen down, in front of the stand it’d been on. 

I was expecting a blood bath: Tiles covered in red, walls splattered with it, bit of him scattered here and there. In stead, it looked no more sinister than a burglary. 

Another few steps forward, and I saw the corner of a floor lamp’s base, upturned near the edge of the coffee table. Everything cast strange shadows, and through the pounding in my ears I heard it: Slow wheezing breaths, and a soft mournful groan that sounded so much like my name.

There was a solid, meaty thump from the dark alcove that lead to the guest bathroom and bedroom. I took a step back, bumping against the wall. 

The thing that came out of the blackness was the monster from the beach. Aleksei’s eyes were set into a devilish face. The lopsided nostrils flared, and constricted with a deep, rattling inhale. His mustache was wet, and when that large mouth opened, it revealed bloody saliva stretching between sharp teeth. He made the sound again, but the movement of his lips didn’t match.

Long, spidery fingers gripped the archway, as he stepped out into the hall. The hand left behind a streak of dark blood on the white wall as he straightened. That same hand reached forward and I cringed away from it. Something passed over that misshapen face, and he pulled it back. 

Using that opportunity, I slid along the wall to the door, putting more distance between me and those claws. There was a moment, when I reached the door, that I was afraid my legs would give out. If I could get outside, I’d be fine. If I could just get away from that smell. 

As the door closed behind me, I held my breath, waiting. The door didn’t open behind me. I was alone on the breezeway, trying desperately to regain some sense of calm. In for seven, out for nine. You’re fine. You’re not dead. You’re boyfriend’s a werewolf. 

Your boyfriend’s a fucking werewolf. 

The second I got back in the apartment, I ran to the bedroom. My first instinct was to get into bed and pull the covers over my head. It was stupid, childish, and wouldn’t protect me. In the dark, surrounded by the intense smell of Aleksei, I waited.

Minutes ticked by like hours. I rolled every scenario through my head. What would I do if he denied it in the morning? What if he doesn’t? 

When the front door opened and shut, I curled into a tight ball. The slow tap tap tap of claws on tiles came closer, then stopped. The lamp was still on, and it meant I’d see him clearly. I’d see the blood on his mouth, and streaked up his arms. It also meant he saw me hiding from him. By the time I mustered the courage to peek, he was gone. The bathroom door was open, and I could hear the shower running. 

I held the hem of the robe like a security blanket, as I walked towards the bathroom. The heat and steam reeked of him; bad enough that I had to breathe through my mouth to avoid feeling nauseated. 

Distorted in the frosted tiles was the dark shape of Aleksei: Tall, long limbed, and terrifying. The instinct to run hit me hard, followed quickly by the urge to vomit. I sucked air between my teeth and told myself I’d get used to the smell. This wasn’t any worse than going down on him in the summer. It was the same odor he gave off when he sweated. 

After taking off my clothes, and hanging the robe on the towel rod, I opened the shower door. I was glad for the grip I had on it, because my legs turned to jelly. Even soaking wet, and bloodless, his appearance was jarring. It didn’t seem real; like if I blinked, he’d be gone. 

His eyes were wide as he stared at me, then he ducked his head and looked at the floor. It was the same shy movement I saw in the mirror. The sudden human vulnerability diminished the otherworldly strangeness of him.

I stepped in, and let the door close behind me. I was trapped in a 4’x6’ box with a werewolf. A living, breathing, stinking werewolf. 

It was impossible to hide how badly my hand trembled when I reached up to touch him. His patchy fur had more of a human texture, like body hair rather than like an animal’s. Beneath my palm I could feel his heart pounding as I explored. The familiarity of his face, despite the monstrous appearance, was strange. I could feel the slight indentation in his right cheekbone from a childhood injury he never talked about. I could feel the bump of his off center snout where his nose had been broken. Aleksei closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. 

I looked at my hands against the patch of sparse fur that revealed grayish skin. It was the same color as a mange infested dog’s, but smooth to the touch. If I focused on pieces of him, I could find more and more of Aleksei in the details: The hair pattern, the shape of his hips, his cock, his crooked toes.

He’d killed the guy next door. I didn’t have to see the body to know. What would happen next? Had I interrupted his clean up? Did he clean up? I leaned into him, letting my arms wrap around his narrow waist. Those teeth were so close to my neck as he pressed his face into my hair. 

One crisis at a time. I took a deep breath, and regretted it when I nearly gagged. This gross funk would be all over me unless I shampooed and scrubbed.

Aleksei stepped out of the way for me. Standing out of the stream, he looked almost comically gangly. The hair was thickest around his neck, and with it soaked and clinging to his skin, he looked like one of those skinny Russian dogs. 

Not expecting an answer, but wanting to break the silence, I asked: “Are you like this all night?” 

To my surprise, he made a sound a lot like an “mmhm.” 

Aleksei could understand me, but he was limited to responding in a yes or no fashion. It didn’t stop me from asking how he could say my name. I watched him mull over how to respond. He’d open his large mouth as if he’d speak, then close it again. Eventually he inhaled, as when he opened his mouth again, a very human “Dior” came out. 

God it was weird hearing my name drawn out like that. It was a human voice, but it wasn’t his. 

After we both stepped out, I took the hair dryer to him. With his fur dry, the smell was bearable. He was also a lot fluffier looking. I finger combed his hair, or mane, or whatever it was, until it relaxed a bit. 

The mundaneness of it all helped. My hands didn’t shake as I smoothed his mustache back into the shape he usually styled it. His skin wasn’t pliable like a dog’s. I couldn’t scrunch his face up as I ran some leave in conditioner through his hair. At least he smelled better, not good, but better. 

There was so much I wanted to ask him about. I was scared if I went to sleep, then woke up with him human, that he’d say it was a dream. A part of me was scared this might truly be a dream. So I was determined to remain awake until dawn. 

The transformation back was quick. It wasn’t pretty either. I was literally watching him deflate as his bone snapped back to a human shape. Aleksei leaned heavily against the wall for a moment, panting. His long, slender legs were visibly trembling from the effort of staying upright. 

I helped him to the bed, and sat next to him. As I stroked his hair, I asked him how he became a werewolf.

His voice was scratchy as he answered. He’d been born with it, but didn’t know until a few months after his 15th birthday. “That was the first time I changed,” he said. 

I remembered that was about the time he stopped pursuing ballet. He affirmed that was the reason. He couldn’t take that time off every month and stay in the school. There were plenty of dancers waiting to take his spot. There was a sadness in his voice while he spoke. I knew he enjoyed ballet, but didn’t realize how important it’d been to him. 

Before I could second guess myself, I blurted out: “Why’d you kill him?”

Aleksei’s answer was so nonchalant. He didn’t make excuses, or try to justify it. He simply hated the man. When I dared to ask about the rest, the answer was similar. They were people he disliked, or people that did terrible things. The agency that contracted him out would give him a name to look into, and a lot of times he’d dig up some heinous shit. So long as they got their information, they didn’t care what happened to the person along the way. 

“And that American family?”

That’d been an accident. One he regretted. Aleksei’s head was in my lap as he talked about how he’d not made a kill the month prior. The target he’d been stalking got wind that someone was onto him. The day of the full moon, the guy’d flown back to the States. So he’d been forced to go without, unable to find another suitable target. If he didn’t make a kill, he described it like walking around in a haze. “It is…” he paused, trying to find the right words, “it’s like you’re outside of your body.”

The family just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’d gone to the jungle to run off his aggression, and hunt in an area known to be used by drug smugglers. He saw them on the beach, and said the next thing he knew, he woke up covered in blood. The reason the child was never found was he’d eaten most of it, and buried the remains out of remorse. “It didn’t feel right to leave it for scavengers.”

“Why didn’t you tell me after that night?”

He wouldn’t look at me as he spoke, and I heard the strain in his voice. “You were the only friend I had, and I was afraid I’d lose you.”

He almost did. 

As I stroked his hair, I listened to the silence. There would never be the constant petty drone of game shows from next door, or static crackling all night long. I wouldn’t have to bottle up the anger at being called terrible things, just because I wanted to sit outside and enjoy some fresh air. A part of me was glad he was dead. But I couldn’t force Aleksei to justify each and every victim just so it wouldn’t weigh on my conscience. “So what now?” 

“I don’t know.” 

I wanted to reassure him. I wanted to tell him it’d be okay, but I didn’t know if it would. It was a lot to take in, and I couldn’t completely lay the blame at his feet. He’d been born like this. It’d taken things from him. But at the same time, he knowingly killed people. Bad people, but still people. 

I spilled everything then, the nightmares, and the reason for the visit. It all came tumbling out. I’d been so angry living with the fear of that night. How it fucked me up for months, years afterward, and still woke me up up in a cold sweat every so often. 

Aleksei was silent at first. He didn’t know what to say, and genuinely felt guilt over leaving me on that beach. “I didn’t know what to do,” he told me, and acknowledged it was a shit excuse. “When you avoided me, I felt I deserved it.” He’d also suspected the motivation behind my surprise visit, but didn’t want to admit that to himself. He’d wanted to pretend we were just a normal couple, and he was a normal person. 

Hearing that broke my heart. I knew how that felt. Those nights when I passed; when I never heard a fumble over the “sir” directed at me, meant so much. It made me feel normal, like I wasn’t pretending, and that I was being seen as a person. This was so far beyond normal though. Werewolves weren’t supposed to be real, and yet Aleksei was very solid beneath my palms. 

I coaxed him to sit up, steadying him as his arm shook from the effort. The dark circles made his eyes stand out, and the shadow of stubble made his cheeks look even more gaunt. I kissed him, feeling the scratchiness of his jaw against my palms, and told him we’ll figure it out as we went along. 


	4. Aleksei: Fall of 1989

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WEEK 3 PROMPT: Write a story that takes place entirely on a train.

Things were tense between my sister and I. Over a decade of resentment, that began around the time I left for university. I’d hoped the trip would heal the rift; that if she could see my face when I told her what I’d been through since graduation. Perhaps then, she’d realize her bitter jealousy was unfounded.

It started as a disagreement on how we should travel. Catharine was tired of being on a plane, after spending nearly a day in the air. That was understandable, so I offered to rent a car. The Camaro z28 was gorgeous; black, sleek, and fast. It was everything I wanted in a car, but she’d turned her nose up at it. 

She’d wanted the Mercedes-Benz in champagne. I was tight on cash, and the Benz was out of the question. I’d budgeted carefully for the trip, since Juna wouldn’t have a job lined up until I got settled into the new place. Catharine took it as me snubbing her style, and not treating my poor little sister to the luxuries this country had to offer. The luxuries she thought I clearly enjoyed and refused to share.

I was already weary by the time we begrudgingly settled on taking the train. The money that would’ve gone towards gas was used to upgrade us to a sleeper car. An overnight trip in coach was out of the question. I could feel the bone deep fatigue starting to settle in. I couldn’t stand to be around people when I felt so vulnerable. 

“So you can afford a private cabin but not a Benz?”

I bit back the retort. She was the reason I solely deposited the money into our mother’s account. 

Going through the station was like moving underwater. The lights were too bright. The voices were too loud. Catharine’s perfume irritated my sinuses. By the time we got to our cabin, a headache was pounding behind my eyes. I just wanted to sleep. 

  
The body was discovered an hour before noon the next day. The victim’s cabin had been painted in great swaths of red, and no one had heard a thing. The stewardesses tried to keep the passengers away from the area. They weren’t trained to handle something like this, but the ones who could keep their smile in place ushered looky-loos back to their seats.

Our cabin being right across from it, offered us a good look at the mess that once was a person. Catharine and I sat and watched as the room was closed off and locked. Someone had vomited at our doorway, so we escaped the chaos, and the smell to go have brunch.

Whispered theories and rumors filled the dining car with a low buzz. My head still ached as I tried to enjoy my scone, while Catharine picked at her limp bacon. She frowned at her plate, and got up to harass the poor server. There was no point in stopping her, because she’d simply divert her frustration back to me. It wasn’t the under cooked bacon that really bothered her, or the killing. It was the fact that I wouldn’t be going back home with her.

Mom got sick before I left. The cough that started as a bothersome thing throughout our childhood, turned into a life threatening thing. The coal dust got everywhere. You didn’t have to work in the mines for your lungs to be peppered with it. 

“No, no, Aleksei. You finish school first.” That’s what she’d told me when I came home from Irkutsk. After a year in the mines, she’d held my face and told me to stop wasting my life there. Ballet had been taken from me, she refused to let my education be put on hold for her sake. 

I was able to pursue my masters, while Catharine was left in Bratsk. Her dreams of going to Paris were dashed as I graduated from Diderot, then immigrated to the United States. No one was going to relieve her from the duty of caring for mom. She was the only living family left, which meant the aspirations of modeling kept getting pushed back until she aged out. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she never would’ve made it. You can’t walk a runway at 165 cm, and she’d hate me for even knowing that. 

Catharine sat down with a new plate. She sighed at the hard eggs, the greasy, but now crisp bacon, and handful of cherry tomatoes. “American trains are worthless. Look at how slow we’re moving.” She waved her fork towards the window as vast stretches of emptiness rolled past. Truthfully, the trains back home were no better as far as speed went. She was just looking for something to complain about.

“We only took the train because you insisted.”

“If I’d known they were this bad, I would’ve let you rent that hideous car.” She refused to drop it. According to her, if I’d just done what a good brother should’ve, we could’ve been in Baltimore by now. We could’ve been eating at all the fast food places she’d only heard of. We wouldn’t be stuck in a cabin across from a corpse that stank up the entire car.

When I told her to keep her voice down, she only got louder. Catharine enjoyed arguments for the sake of them. “Keep my voice down? Aleksei, these people can’t understand a word we’re saying. I can shout to the world about how you fuck men, and wear women’s underwear, and they’d never know. So tell me, how am I embarrassing you this time?”

“You’re making a scene. After last night, it’d do you well to keep your head down.” I hissed across the table. There were already eyes on us, long before she started jabbing her fork across the table. We were the only two on board who weren’t speaking English. 

“Let them come get me. It’d be better than sharing a cabin with my rich brother, who chose a confused child over their own family.”

“Dior isn’t a child.”

“Horse shit. How old were they when you started fucking them, huh? Seventeen? Eighteen?”

“He was twenty-two… Saint’s above, why am I justifying this to you?”

“Ah yes, twenty-two, and playing dress up to get the attention of a wealthy, white foreigner to save them. And you fell for it, didn’t you? All that money going towards that whore, while your family’s living in the slums.”

The silverware rattled against the table as I slammed my hand down with a “fuck you.” She’d always insisted I had more money than I let on. That somehow I ferreted away some grand hoard to spend on all the things she desired. She never had to sleep with ear plugs in roach infested apartments. She never had to deal with job applications getting rejected again and again. She never had to hide what she was for fear of getting fired. Catharine’d never once worked a day in her life.

The urge to slap her welled up as I saw her satisfied grin. Catharine knew every sore spot to poke and prod. Having won the argument, she contentedly went back to her breakfast. Before she got up, she handed me a napkin: “You still have some dried blood in your mustache.”

  
I should’ve stopped her last night. We’d locked ourselves in, and I could feel that it’d be a rough one. We were trapped in a cramped room, with no prey, and no space to run. Reading kept me distracted when the restlessness settled in a few hours before sunset. Catharine fidgeted. She’d get up, pace the few feet between the window and door, then try to goad me. I refused to give her the satisfaction. 

Catharine couldn’t resist. She never could. In the quiet hours, with only the steady rocking sound of the train, a door opened and shut. She was out the moment she’d heard it, and I was frozen in fear. I stood in our cabin, waiting for the inevitable sound of screaming. A sound that never came. In stead I heard a soft knock, and a masculine “yes?”

I don’t know who it was, or why she chose it. By the time I caught up, she’d made the kill, and foolishly left the overhead light on.

The smell of it’s blood had been intoxicating, overwhelming enough that I nearly forgot to snap the curtains closed. That was the first time she didn’t argue with me over splitting a meal. We didn’t have time to, and I didn’t want to risk alerting anyone to our presence. 

She took both thighs, leaving me nothing but the parts she didn’t like. It’s arms were mostly fat, but at least they satisfied the hunger. She knew I hated the fatty bits. They gave me the shits.

A flashlight lit up the hall, and I felt my stomach flip flop. In stead of watching the curtained window, I watched Catharine. I feared her lack of impulse control, and her need to spite me. Two kills in one night would be difficult to hide. People noticed when employees went missing. A passenger sleeping in wouldn’t raise any eyebrows. We might make it to the station if she behaved.

My heart was pounding as the stewardess knocked lightly, and asked in a hushed tone: “Sir, is there anything I can get you?”

Catharine, who’d heard it speak prior to the kill, mimicked a quick, curt, “no”. 

I released the breath I’d been holding.

We crept back to our cabin after turning the light off. She slept soundly, belly full, and unbothered by the fact that at any moment, someone could open that door. They could unlock our door. I sat up and watched the little window as the moon crept lazily across the sky. Each time the routine walkthrough lit it up, I felt dread gnaw at my guts. It soured my stomach, and after sunrise returned out humanity, I vomited. 

Exhausted from the change, and stress of being in such close quarters with my sister, I simply enjoyed the silence of her absence in the dining car. The scone was dry, and overly sweet. I forced it down with some coffee, followed with a mimosa to rinse the filmy taste it left behind. 

Before I had the opportunity to test just how bottomless their brunch mimosas were, I caught the nervous glance from the stewardess. Of course there would be nothing linking the two of us in the case of detainment, but I wasn’t confident in my sister’s ability to remain level headed in such a situation. Even if we managed to be unlucky enough to get arrested on suspicion, the Agency would get me out before the next full moon. 

To smile at her felt wrong. With the death looming over the passengers and crew, a happy drunk would certainly draw too much attention. 

I remained in the cabin with Catharine until we arrived. She’d plundered through my bag again, and held the underwear Dior’d bought me. “I guess dad was right about you. You’re nothing but a cowardly little-”

“That’s _enough_.” I took them back from her, and ignored her. A line had been crossed, and I wasn’t about to let it show just how much it’d bothered me. She’d been too young to really remember him. To remember what he’d done. Mom never brought up the months I’d spent in the hospital; she’d been a baby then. We all tried to forget it once he left, but Catharine had only grown up with photos and memories based on hearsay. 

The book I’d brought for the trip had been finished before the change, but I started over. It’d been predictable, and the author’s language was harsh at certain points. However, it was better than letting her keep the fight going. 

A finger hooked over the page I’d read, and reread only to absorb nothing. “Feel better now that you got all that aggression out of your system?” Catharine asked. When I glared at her, she continued: “Look, if you keep all that shit pent up, you’re going to lose it. Especially on the full moon. So you’re welcome for keeping that little whore safe.”

Once we got to the station, the passengers were corralled on the loading platform. We were told to stay put for questioning. I spotted Dior in the waiting crowd beyond the gates. His hair was piled up in a poof that stood out amongst the toboggans and coat hoods. I took Catharine by the elbow and we slipped away before anyone could notice. If the police followed, it was a simple misunderstanding. English is, in truth, my third language. 

Catharine was all smiles and niceties. I was once again the dear, sweet brother who took care of her. In the cab she asked Dior what he did, and I felt his hand grip mine as she called him “девочка”. Dior knew just enough Russian to understand what that meant. I knew it was bait. She was testing him, and testing me again. 

I squeezed his hand, tucked away between out thighs, hidden from both Catharine and the cab driver. Only a few more minutes. We could make it that long. Soon Catharine would be dropped off at the hotel, and Dior and I would go home. 

Home. It felt strange calling it that. I glanced in the rear window, half expecting to see the red and blue of police lights. Baltimore was a large city, and murder wasn’t uncommon where people were pressed in tight. I wanted this to work. I wanted Dior to be happy here. 


	5. Dior: The Spring of 1987

It was on the balcony, drunk, and sad that we just vented to each other. It’d been a while since either of us got all the shit off our chests. I told Aleksei how I was scared about not being able to afford rent. My roommate dropped out suddenly, and just bailed on me. She not only left behind her half of the utilities, but her dog as well. A fat headed, white pit bull named George; who’d ruined our chances of getting our deposit back by gnawing the baseboards. A dog I didn’t need or want, and one Aleksei was scared of. Scared enough that he paid for my flight to visit him, rather than make the trip to Tallahassee.

After an emergency surgery to get my gallbladder out before Christmas, all of my savings were pretty much spent. There was no way I could recoup them in time to make the summer application deadline for graduate school. Not to mention my library job was on the line. If I wasn’t a student, I couldn’t keep working there. It terrified me. It wasn’t like I could fall back on stripping now, not with a beard and hairy tits. I also couldn’t afford to move to Miami, where I’m sure there were places for people like me.

Aleksei didn’t do the whole shallow “everything will be fine” talk. He let me air it all out, and then turned to me and said: “I’ll do what I can to help.”

We finished the shared cigarette before he coaxed me inside. At the kitchen bar he helped me work up a monthly budget. The idea that I was a charity case made me uncomfortable. I was just someone else leeching off his earnings, and I wasn’t even blood related. That was his money, and I knew he sent a portion of it to his family back in Bratsk. Though recently, he’d cut his sister off.

As I tried to tell him this was too much, he set his reading glasses on the notepad. The pencil rolled across the yellow paper and clicked against the metal frame. Aleksei then placed his hand over mine and said: “Spouses do this, yes? Budgeting, joint accounts. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

My chest felt tight as a lump rose up my throat. The way he’d said it, how he looked directly at me with such love, just pierced me right through. The considerate, sweet hearted bastard. Maybe it was the vodka making this hit harder than usual, but I started crying the second I kissed him.

It took a hot minute to get my shit together.

Afterwards, on the couch, boneless from fucking him into the decorative pillows, he finally told me what his sister had done. His voice began so monotone, but it wasn’t long before the bitterness and frustration were palpable.

Catharine had told him that caring for their mother was a full time job, meaning she couldn’t work. Someone needed to be home to attend her needs when they arose. He’d accepted it, and sent as much as he could. Until the Agency picked him up, he’d give them just enough to survive, while he barely scraped by himself. It caused a lot of tension between he and his sister, and it got worse when he suddenly was able to send more. Due to his work, he couldn’t really tell them what he did that earned so much more than bartending or line work.

After a phone call with his mother, he realized his sister had been exaggerating how difficult it’d been. His mother only went to her doctor three times a month, and could still very easily take care of herself, as long as she had access to her medication and inhaler. So he started looking into where his money was being spent. He found that Catharine’d been purchasing jewelry, furs, designer clothes, and racking up extravagant tabs in various bars. To really put a topper on the cake, she’d recently applied for a loan to purchase a car. Out of spite, he cut her off before the loan could get approved. Which forced Catharine to depend on their mother for an allowance.

Aleksei sighed, and went to refill his glass. I’d never seen him drink this much. He mixed the generous splash of vodka with some ginger beer.

To lighten the mood, I put on some music. I just hit play on the stereo, not knowing what tape he had in. It was some classical music. Nothing I really recognized, but I didn’t really listen to classical. That was Aleksei’s thing. When I asked what it was, he said: “Tchaikovsky.”

It didn’t lighten the mood at all. Aleksei dropped into a type of melancholy I’d never seen. I was afraid to ask, but it wasn’t long before he started talking. Right before his first full moon, he’d been training for a production of Swan Lake. He worked his ass off perfecting his role of Baron Von Rothbart. He even learned the choreography for Odette and Odile, despite not being an understudy. He danced both male and female roles, he explained. He’d desperately wanted the dual role of Odette and Odile. He was tired of being cast as the villain.

Aleksei leaned against the wall and finished the glass. I heard him muffle a belch, which blew out his cheeks. “Thirty two fouettes. Did you know that’s how many Odile must complete?” I had no idea what that was. “I could do them when Ninel couldn’t. But then,” he lifted his empty glass, and stopped when he remembered there was nothing but ice. “Then I changed. Ninel got her role, and I watched from the fucking audience as she stomped through her performance like an elephant.”

“What’s a fouette?”

I expected an explanation, maybe some animated hand flourishes. Aleksei was very reserved until he got talking about something he was passionate about. In stead, he moved the coffee table out of the way, and rolled up the rug. He set the empty glass on the speaker as he rewound the tape to a specific point. I was fully anticipating this to not end well. He was drunk, he had socks on, and the floors were smooth tile. It was a recipe for disaster.

As I braced for a fall, he took a graceful, balanced stance. Way too balanced for as much alcohol that was in his system. Maybe lycanthropy gave him a tolerance? I don’t know. Either way, I watched him lift up on one leg and spin in time with the music. It was cut short when I saw him start to lose his balance. As I cringed, gripping the couch cushions, he managed to catch himself.

It seemed to upset him more that he didn’t finish. I got up to see about getting him to bed, and noticed to toe of his left sock was wet. I thought he’d maybe spilled some of his drink, but when he took a step, I could see the smear of red across the tile. He went to the bathroom with me with no fuss; just sullen silence. Peeling the sock from his foot, I saw that the nail of his big toe had split. It cracked right down the middle. If it pained him, he didn’t show it as I cleaned and bandaged it.

From the floor, I propped his foot in my lap and pressed my thumbs into the arch. “Hey,” I leaned over to look at his face, where he was hiding behind the curtain of his hair. “Lexxy?” I waited until he looked at me. “That was pretty cool. Maybe you can show me again when you aren’t totally blitzed?”

I saw the corner of his mustache twitch with a smile. “Sure.”

“What was your favorite performance?”

“That I’ve done, or in general?”

“Both.”

While he talked, I moved to his other foot, letting them both rest on my thighs to keep warm. His toes were always so cold. He told me about how he’d always dreamed of dancing in one called The Firebird. The composition was his favorite of Stravinsky’s, and he loved the costuming. Of the ones he’d done, it was The Nutcracker. Being the tallest in the school, he was given the role of the Rat King. As restrictive as that costume had been, he said that was the most fun he’d had on stage.

As he spoke, he wouldn’t look at me. The slight red that colored his cheeks, and hidden smile were so endearing. The way he talked about playing the Rat King was like he was sharing a secret crush.

I got him some water before we went to bed. He pressed his back to me, and I rolled over to wrap my arm over him. With my nose against his neck, the warmth of his skin lulled me to sleep.

The next morning the pain had settled in without the alcohol to dull it. Aleksei couldn’t put much weight on his left foot. I got him to the couch, and wedged the throw pillows under his heel. He tried to downplay his discomfort, but I could see in the stiff line of his shoulders that he was hurting. He hated taking medication of any kind, but I convinced him to get at least one ibuprofen down. “It’ll help with the inflammation,” I said, and went about getting some breakfast ready so it wouldn’t hurt his stomach.

At least his mood had lightened. He snared my fingers when I tried to smooth his mustache down. I watched his lips around my fingers. His teeth grazed the skin, and I pushed them in further. His tongue was hot. Saliva threaded between his lower lip and my finger tips as I pulled away. It had cooled when I kissed him, and opened him up with my tongue.

It didn’t go further than that, not until later in the evening. Though he was still favoring the foot, Aleksei wanted to go out for dinner. Somewhere nice, but not dress code nice. We’d tried a few of those places once or twice. Sure they were good, but Aleksei despised wearing a tie and jacket in the heat. I didn’t care for them much to begin with, because those prices were out of this world.

We settled on Hazel’s. It was a resort place, but the food was legit. Aleksei took for fucking ever in the bathroom. I couldn’t get frustrated with him, not when he came out looking like he did. He’d blown out his hair a bit, to give it some lift at the crown, and then tied it back in a low bun. Despite not shaving the stubble that was coming in, he’d put on just a hint of makeup; some black eyeliner, and a touch of shadow. It would inevitably smudge before the night was over, because his eyelids tended to be oily.

The outfit was deceptively feminine. He wore his usual skin tight jeans, but the blouse was silky, dark, and billowy. He’d left it unbuttoned past his breastbone. Despite the discomfort it must’ve caused, he chose a pair of heeled boots. He was like a damn giraffe next to me, all legs and neck, and left me feeling under dressed. I kissed him anyway, standing on tip toes as he craned down to meet me.

After dinner, in the dark of his bedroom Aleksei's wrists were bound to the headboard with an old scarf. The one with the mustard stain that wouldn't come out. We didn't have anything better on hand, and I wasn't about to ruin his stockings, not when they looked so good on him. He tested the bonds to make sure they were secure before settling into the pillows.

He was nervous. There were little ticks and tells. With his hands bound he couldn't twist the ends of his mustache, or hair. His fingers flexed as the urge struck.

I straddled his narrow waist, feeling his hip bones press against my skin, and stroked his hair. I didn't want to initiate anything until I was sure he was comfortable.

It took a few minutes, but once we got going, he really lost himself in the sensation of it all. My favorite was how I could get his toes to curl when the dildo hit that spot just right.

On his back, he couldn't hide his face in the pillows when he got overwhelmed. I had him by the ankles, with his knees pushed to the mattress. I loved being able to see his expressions; how dark his cheeks got, how he’d watch our bodies meet through his lashes. That eyeliner, smudged with oil and sweat, looked god damned gorgeous. I wondered in that moment, if I’d be able to convince him to put on some lipstick. It’d be a bitch and a half with that mustache, but a dark red would suit him really well.

Earlier, when I'd noticed how little he ate at Hazel’s, I knew he was planning something. It always made me giddy. I could feel it fluttering in my chest on the ride home. At the stoplight he reached back, and guided my hand between where we were pressed together on the bike. Hidden from view, my finger tips brushed against the denim covered edge of the plug he'd been wearing.

I wanted to fuck him in the parking deck stairwell. The thrill of the openness of it, and the risk of being caught was exhilarating. Those moments were what made me painfully aware I didn't have a cock, but I had fingers. I pushed him against the wall of the elevator, and let him grind into my thigh. It was a tight squeeze to get my hand into his jeans, but I was willing to risk cutting the circulation off to make him gasp.

Thank Christ no one was waiting on the fourth floor. When the elevator dinged, he was all but riding my knee. The base had worked its way fully in, which was something that used to worry me. Now it was hot. It added an extra step. It let me watch him writhe beneath me as he worked it back out, leaving him loose and ready to be fucked.

On the bed, we’d swapped out the boots for pumps. I loved the way they looked on him, and on his back, he didn’t have to worry about putting pressure on his foot. I’d always wanted to see him in them, but they just sat in his closet while he tried to muster the confidence. He would’ve worn them to dinner had he not injured himself.

Aleksei’s cock was pressed between us as I leaned forward to kiss him. He came with a shuddered gasp against my mouth. I let him ride it out, telling him how beautiful he was.

Afterwards, with my thighs on either side of his head, and his nose buried in my bush, he sucked me off. I could’ve gone for a second round, but Aleksei needed to get another ibuprofen in him. He was enthusiastic, but it was getting apparent that the pain was seeping back in. Those boots had taken a toll.

I changed the bandage after helping him out of the stockings, and into a pair of pajama pants. The nail was fucked, but at least it didn’t look infected. He was resigned to the fact that he’d likely lose the nail completely. If it didn’t fall off on it’s own, next week’s full moon would take it.

I’d miss the transformation. My flight back was in two days. It wasn’t that I was scared to see him like that again, it was the fact that he had a job lined up. I’d overheard the phone calls when walking past his office, and seen him working for hours at the computer. Whoever he was looking into would likely turn up dead next Wednesday. I’d say I pity the poor bastard, but the people Aleksei looked into didn’t warrant sympathy.

As we lay together, I wondered what it would be like to fuck him on a full moon. To enjoy both sides of him. When I looked down at him, from where he’d curled up against me, he was dead to the world. It wouldn’t be a question for tonight, or even this trip. I’d save it for when things settled down.


	6. Dior: The Fall of 2004

It’s over slightly chewy waffles, and powdered eggs that Aleksei admits: “I like it.” He sighs, and holds the warm mug of coffee in both hands. His nails need trimming. “The stalking, the killing, it’s almost as satisfying as sex. I’m afraid they’ll use it against me when I try to leave again.”

As much as I hate hearing it, I’ve willingly turned a blind eye to that part of him for two decades. Aleksei isn’t human. He doesn’t think like a human. What’s morally reprehensible to me, is as mundane as going out for groceries to him. I knew what I was getting into, and I don’t regret any of it.  
  
We’d agreed, after that night in the condo, to keep his work separate from our lives, but it’s wearing him down. He wants to retire so bad, and they won’t let him go. I reach across the table and rub his knuckles. The idea that they plan to keep him under their thumb until he dies terrifies me. I’m sure the thought’s crossed his mind as well. He’s certainly been smoking more lately. 

“What was it like… last night, I mean.” This is a dangerous question. I shouldn’t ask, but if he does break ties with the Agency, it means he’s back to doing what he did before: Finding prey the old fashioned way. 

Aleksei hesitates, and for a moment I worry he’s upset when he gets up. In stead he refills his coffee, and sits back across from me. “Elating. The beach you took me to was less than a quarter of a mile from it’s home. I saw it, sun bathing when we went for a walk.” That’s news to me. I’d noticed Aleksei seemed tense, but I’d just assumed it was just because he was shy about his chest being exposed. He’d spent a good portion of that outing fighting the wind to keep his hair pulled over his shoulders. 

“It wore a white bikini, and I could smell Chanel no. 5. It didn’t suit it, but like most wealthy people, it was a status symbol.” I knew exactly who he was talking about. The woman had put on so much perfume that we’d had to move when the wind shifted in our direction. Aleksei was sensitive to strong fragrances, so I can only imagine how pungent it was to him. 

It’s weird to think about. I’d seen someone with an expiration over their head, and her death sat next to me on the towel, reading The Hotel New Hampshire. To me, she was just every other wealthy white woman. Nothing special, nothing noteworthy. Hell, she didn’t even glance our way when it became clear Aleksei and I were the only interracial couple out there. 

“Tracking it was simple. The children were out of the house, and the alarm system hadn’t been installed properly.” He snorts, and pauses to drink. “It was obvious the cameras didn’t connect to anything, and the patio door was left unlocked. Saint’s above, it was like I was being invited in.”

As Aleksei describes the kill, I wait for the nausea or repulsion to bring breakfast back up my throat, but it never comes. I realize I feel nothing. Sure, it’s shocking to hear him talk about letting his victim believe, for a second, she might make it. That he let her crawl to the phone before finally going in for the kill. He talked about how vile her skin tasted because of the lotion, and her flesh tasting sour from diet pills. It explained why I’d woken up to the sound of him doing some gnarly puking.

“Can you say why she was your target?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Was it bad?”

“Two late husbands with hefty life insurance payouts bad.”

A black widow. It’s wild. I never would’ve guessed by looking at her, but I can say the same about Aleksei. When I first saw him behind the bar, he looked intimidating, a little sad, but not the type who ate people once a month. 

He’s looking into his coffee mug. I watch his finger tap against the ceramic. “Thank you,” he says after a moment. “For listening to me.” He never looks up, and I can see how stiff he’s holding his shoulders. 

He’s always been afraid of letting me see the other side of him. I know because he admitted to me the night we discussed having kids, after he was maybe four glasses of wine in. Aleksei doesn’t drink much, and even with the benefit of lycanthropy, he’s a bit of a light weight. He’s terrified I’ll realize he’s a monster, and that I can do better. It’s bullshit, and I’ve told him that. Human or not, it’s him I fell in love with.

I stand up, and notice how he tenses. I step around the table and brush my fingers through his hair. He leans into the touch as I bend down to kiss him. “I love you, Lexxy. Every part of you.”

He’s more than receptive, surprisingly so, given the conversation we just had. My hand slips down the front of his robe, and my fingers follow the curve of his chest. I love the contrast of thick hair covering soft skin. As self conscious as he’s been about the changes to his body, he’s so much happier with himself. 

Beneath the black silk, I can see the line of his cock. In the rush of packing, I’d forgotten to grab a dildo. It wasn’t until our first night at the hotel that I realized this. I’d been so distracted making sure I packed Aleksei’s red bikini briefs, because he was reluctant to go to the beach. We made do with fingers and my mouth until the day before the full moon. Aleksei topped that morning, before the worst of the fatigue set in. It was slow, intimate, and he was so beautiful. 

I could ride him now. Just settle into his lap, let him fill me up until we’re both boneless and exhausted. With him this vulnerable, I want him more comfortable. Aleksei’s a hard nut to crack, but when he opens up, he’s raw for days afterwards. So I suggest we go to the bedroom. I’ll figure something out along the way. Something nicer than a few fingers, or a fist. 

His lips brush against the shell of my ear as he catches me by the elbow. “Let’s go outside.” 

The blood rushes to my cheeks as I follow him to the balcony. Our suite on the fourth floor had an ocean front view. We’d used it only a few times, Aleksei more so, since he’d go out there to have a cigarette in the evenings. I’d tried having some morning coffee, but the wind and gnats drove me back inside. 

It’s cool this morning. I brace as the wind hits my skin, and feel goosebumps spreading over my arms. Aleksei’s hair whips as a gust swirls in the small space, and flutters the edges of his robe. The silk clings to his lean body, showing off the swell of his chest and half hard cock. 

The cold air is forgotten when he tells me what he’s got in mind. This is new for us, together at least. It’s something he’s done when the nights were lonely, and partners were few and far between. I-95 is a long, lonely road if you can’t speak English. He kisses me between instructions. 

Aleksei can still surprise me, even after all these years together. On my knees, I suck his cock until he’s hard. My spit slick fingers work him open as I tease his head with my tongue. Above me, he’s flushed and fighting not to cover his face. I can see how he resists the urge by gripping his chest, or bunching the hem of his robe in his fist. He’s doing everything but letting his hands go near his face. 

I pull away from his cock with a pop, knowing that’ll make the tips of his ears turn red. I ask him if he’s ready. When he nods, I stand up and try to hide the wince as my knees pop. If he notices, he doesn’t acknowledge it as his tongue delves into my mouth. 

I’m scared of hurting him when I carefully grip his shaft. At least the knowledge that he’s done this before puts some of the fear at ease. It’s the trying to push it back without crushing his balls that worries me most. His hand reaches between us as he heads guide the movement. Aleksei lifts his leg, hooking it around my waist as I press his cock into him. 

The way he gasps goes straight to my dick. I’m already painfully hard, and wet as hell. Keeping my hand over his cock so it doesn’t slide out, I rock my hips against my arm. It’s a strange sensation, but one I certainly won’t complain about. It’s new, it’s a little strange, but god damn it’s hot. 

Below us I can hear the guests starting their mornings. A guy on the phone close enough that I can make out he’s arguing with his daughter. People will be on the beach, not many, but the dedicated morning runners will be. Someone could see us. If they just happen to look up at the right angle, they can see Aleksei pinned to the wall, robe hanging loose as I fuck him with his cock. The thrill of it makes me nervous and giddy. 

“Come for me, baby.” I say against his neck. 

The way he shudders on the exhale, he’s fighting not to be loud. Aleksei’s rarely noisy, but he wants to be. Even with people a floor below us having a smoke, he wants it. So I coax it out of him. When his cock slips free, I brush my thumb over the oversensitive head until he’s squirming and begging. Only when he gasps “enough,” do I let up. 

When he drops to his knees, I worry it’s because his legs were still weak from the change. It’s not until I catch the sly glance up beneath long lashes, and the way the corner of his mustache lifts in a crooked smile, do I get what he’s after. He pushes down my pajama pants enough that I can spread my legs. My underwear is damp when his mouth presses against them. He teases my cock through the fabric before finally yanking them away. 

I love the sound of him. The deep inhales, the half groans around my dick, the wetness of it all. He’s not afraid of being sloppy. None of it puts him off. Not even when I was spotting from the stress of moving, or when I had to go off T for a few months for my chest surgery. His long, cool fingers slip up the front first before moving to my ass. 

It’s not long before I’m coming. Below, his tongue snakes between my folds, pushing in deep before he pulls away. His mustache is damp, and his chin glistening when he smiles up at me. It’s that toothy smile he saves just for me, because he doesn’t care how he looks when it’s just us. 

He’s gorgeous like that: Knees splayed beneath him, robe hitched up around his hips, falling open to reveal his chest. The come on his thighs, standing out against the dark hair, is starting to dry. if I could make this moment last, I would, but I know the tile is hell on his knees and we both need a shower. 

This is how I want to remember this trip. This is what he wants. It’s a vacation, not work. A vacation he can look back on, and not have to think about the collar the Agency keeps around his neck. He can remember our walk on the beach, getting sun burnt because he hates the smell of sunscreen, and getting thoroughly fucked on the balcony. 

Aleksei stays out there a little longer while I go have a piss. He’s smoking when I check on him, and I hang back, watching him. I sometimes wonder what it’d be like if he never got involved with the Agency. We’d be poorer, certainly, but would we be happier? Having money has definitely made a lot of things easier, but the toll on him is starting to show. He’s five years from sixty, and isn’t sure how many more beyond that he has left. He’s never met an elderly werewolf.

I try not to dwell on that too long. The prospect of living without him always makes that cold dread grip my spine. He notices me when he shakes his head to get hair out of his eyes. His smile is warm, goofy looking with those crooked horse teeth of his. When he comes inside, I kiss him, tasting myself along with the lingering cigarette smoke. “Let’s be obnoxious tourists today,” I say as he leans into me, still cold from the chilly air. “There’s a maritime museum a few blocks away.”

He hums against my mouth, and catches my lip between his teeth. “Sounds lovely.”


	7. Mabe: Winter of 2005

He’s just as terrifying and beautiful as before. Shit, even more so now. There’s something almost sinful about his figure, how the black robe clings to his skin, and the smoke curls from his mouth. His bony feet are covered in black socks that only show a hint of skin above his knees. The “no vacancy” sign casts him in shades of red, and harsh shadows. I catch the glint of the gold Chanel watch around his wrist as he brings the cigarette to his lips.

The last time we saw one another, he’d been in pajamas. He’d looked comfortable, and deceptively unthreatening. All soft fabrics and layers to combat the freezing air that I’d let in, standing at the door to his house. His husband recognized me as a wolf immediately. Guess when you live with one, you pick up on things normal folks don’t, or can’t. 

I can smell the hot, flu-like stink of his body readying for a transformation. Aleksei’s willing to risk an off night change. I can see it in the hellish glint behind his eyes. “Well, Mabe?” 

He’d be on me before I could finish my own transformation. My wolf was slow to come out, reluctant. His isn’t. I swallow, and try to look as unthreatening as possible. I brought this on myself. I brought him here by taking what’s his. Sitting on a springy, cheap mattress wasn’t doing me any favors. I can’t fully relax, because it’d leave me exposed. If he kills me, he’ll never find where I buried the parts. “I want to know why?”

Aleksei exhales twin plumes of smoke from his nostrils, “why what?” 

“Why do you like killing people?” Dad couldn’t explain it, Johnny couldn’t, wouldn’t, explain why he used to, back when he stalked the Arizona desert. I want to know if it was some sick, perverse pleasure the wolf took, or an instinct.

“There is a difference between seeking out a pleasurable act, and doing something out of necessity. The things I kill are a necessity. It’s no different than slaughtering a cow when you’re hungry, or putting a rabid dog out of it’s misery.”

The way he said “things” crawled down my spine. “Then kill a fucking cow! Why does it have to be a person?”

“Tell me, Mabe, who are you during the full moon?”

The fuck kind of therapist-ass question is that? “I’m a monster. Just like you.” Just like Dad. 

“You assume a lot about people. I’m not a monster-“

“Bullshit. Dude, I’ve seen your crime scenes. You’re a fucking butcher.”

He brushes his hair back, and pulls it over one shoulder. Christ, his neck is gorgeous. He hums as his brows lift in a shrug. “I was afforded the luxury of being sloppy by my employer, but,” he hangs onto the word and looks directly at me. “I had clearance, what was your excuse?”

“What?”

“Tammy Farris, Georgie Farris, Hunter Lane, Karen Johnson… do I need to continue?”

“Who the fuck are you talking about?”

I can see the twitch of a faint smile as the corner of his mustache lifts. His yellowed teeth look sharp. “All those people you ripped to pieces in Wisconsin. Don’t you remember them?”

That cold feeling around my spine spreads down my arms, and makes the tips of my fingers tingle. I remember. I just didn’t know their names. It’s hard keeping a straight face. I don’t want him to see this get to me, but man, it does. I see those faces in my nightmares. The brunette with the pretty flannel shirt, one like Jody has, trying to shield a black haired little boy in a brand new Patagonia jacket. It still had the in-store smell when I tore into him, and found the tender, hot meat inside. 

Nausea hits me like a sack of bricks. Yeah, I fucking remembered every second, and I’m just now able to stand living with myself outside of the alcohol haze. How can he? How can he be so calm, so cold? How does he justify them? 

“I don’t.” He answers simply. 

“Jesus. You are a fucking monster, Aleksei.”

“I’m a werewolf, as are you. We aren’t human, Mabe. There’s a reason we’re closest to our true selves when we give in. I don’t understand it; but until you accept it, and stop fighting it, you will destroy everything around you.”

The way he says that makes me think he’s killed someone he regrets. I wonder who, but I’m too afraid to ask. I’m afraid of him, of what he’s saying. I’m afraid he’s right. Is this the difference between werewolves born and the ones bitten? Is this why Big Jack and Tippy can separate their lives from what they become on the full moon? They, along with the other wolves in Pine Hollow were all bitten. Johnny and I were the only ones who’d inherited the curse. 

I want to punch him in the face, just as much I want to grab his face and kiss him. I hate this. I hate him. When I look at him, all I can think about are the shitty excuses my dad gave me when he killed those hunters. It’s just all the lies I told myself wrapped in a prettier package. I hate that he’s learned to cope better. That he has a loving husband, a nice house, neighbors who actually like him. Why does he get to have that when I don’t?

Aleksei’s faster than me. He dodges the right hook, but I’m stronger. All of my strength goes into shoulder checking him into the wall. I hear the rush of air leave his lungs, the the gasp of shock. His cigarette rolls across the stained carpet. Then I hear the wheeze, and feel the sudden heat against my skin. He’s changing. Oh fuck, he’s changing. 

Bones shift beneath my palm as I push away from him. He’s already mostly through it before I can regain my balance. I shout for Jody, knowing there’s no way I can get between Aleksei and the door. Sausage is just two doors away. He can make it. He always makes it. He better make it.

It feels like an eternity before I can hear the sound of a big Canadian shoulder hitting the door. It takes him three tries before he can get it down. It’s enough to distract Aleksei, who takes his horrific, borderline hypnotic focus off me. 

What I didn’t expect is Jody trying to deescalate this. I expected him to roll in, ready to rumble, and fill Aleksei’s face full of quills. What kills me is that it fucking works. Aleksei’s snarl fades, as he looks at the big guy. They’re close in height, though Aleksei’s long ears, and disproportionately long limbs make him look much taller. 

“Hey, dude, go chill in the room.”

Was he going to fucking Dr. Phil this out with Aleksei? “Jodes…”

“There’s some beer in the mini fridge. Go save me from the temptation, eh?” 

  
There was something in his tone that told me it wasn’t time to argue. So I didn’t. I hated leaving him alone, but he can handle himself, right? He can handle me just fine on a full moon. Hell, he nearly killed me once. I’ll never forget the look in his eye when I lost control. Even through the haze, that always stuck with me. I never want to see that look again.

He’s gone a while. My mind starts going to bad places. Jody’s strong, he can be nasty in a fight, but Aleksei’s fast and cruel. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to the big guy. I can’t imagine a world without Jody in it. He’s the closet thing to a real dad I got. 

I don’t want to go out onto the breezeway, so I alternate between drinking the watery Michelob Ultra and pressing my ear to the wall. I can hear muffled voices, confirming Aleksei changed back, at least, and they both were still breathing. I hear the distinct sound of Jody’s laugh, and it goes quiet for a few. 

It’s not until I hear a thump, and the squeal of mattress springs that I start getting worried. What the fuck is going on over there?

I get my answer about an hour later, when Jody walks in, shirt unbuttoned, and hair a mess. This wasn’t post-alien disheveled. I can smell Aleksei’s citrusy perfume on him, and the cigarette smoke that clings to all his hair. There’s something else under it all: Sweat, spit, and… god damn it. 

“You fucked him? What the fuck, Jodes?” I can’t believe it. I cannot, fucking believe it. “You’re married!”

“So is he.”

“He’s a monster!”

“I’m an alien!” I flinch instinctively, and he softens. “Now lay off it. I… I don’t meet many folks like me.” He sits on the bed, and it squeaks pitifully under him. “Look, Troy knows I still cruise every now and then, and Aleksei’s fine as hell.”

I could strangle him right now, but I also gotta know. “How was it?”

“Fun. Could’ve been more fun if he wasn’t so out of it from the werewolf thing, and if I had a strap. But fingers worked fine.”

“Oh… I thought, since he has a dick, you’d, you know…”

“Nah, dude’s a champion submissive bottom.”

“Huh, go fig. So, uh, what’d you two talk about?”

“You, how you’ve been a thorn in his side lately,” Jody lays back and folds his arms under his head. “We talked about our husbands, retirement, why I smelled weird to him.” He grunts when I sit on the bed and throw my legs over his stomach. I want to make escaping the conversation just hard enough that his laziness will keep him talking. “You have to let it go, dude. Whoever he works for is way out of my jurisdiction, and you meddling in their business isn’t just affecting him, don’tcha know? You took shit from them, not him. It’ll come down on you.”

I’m left to stew in my guilt and anger while he goes to shower off. It’s not the werewolf smell Jody didn’t like, it was the cigarettes. He’d quit smoking a few years back when Troy’s asthma took a bad turn, and relied on edibles to treat his anxiety and stress now. He didn’t want the craving coming back. Or so he said. I could smell it all in his beard. He’d caved.

I stare at the wall with it’s cheap mass produced barn yard painting. Two rooms away, Jody and Aleksei’d fucked. He’d fucked the man who scared me more than anything, more than myself. But that was Jody. The dude forgave the guy who’d ruined his life; who’d tried to not only kill him, but kill Troy too. 

What pissed me off more was that he was right. Aleksei hadn’t thought about me since our run in in Florida. Now I come back, and start sticking my nose in his business. God, I’m a fucking idiot. If I’d gotten in the way of him retiring, what would he do to me? To my friends? Is that why Jody fucked him? Butter him up so he won’t go after anyone else? Who knows. 

When he comes back, damp, smelling like cheap soap and shampoo, I can see the red marks left behind. Scratches down his back. Not enough to break the skin, but just enough to leave evidence. It leaves me with a weird feeling in my guts that I don’t like. I don’t know if it’s jealousy or anger.

Thankfully he wants to talk about anything but what happened. Janey’s apparently coming down to visit, and bringing the baby. He’s never seen his niece in person, and he’s nervous. It’s not like I can give him sound advice, but I think just talking out loud is what helps. 

Before he pulls back the cheap bedspread, he grabs me around the head in one of his awkward one armed hugs. “Goodnight. Get some sleep, because we’re heading out early.” As he switches the lights off, and reaches across me to put his watch on the nightstand, he whispers: “I sucked his dick,” and kisses me on the forehead.

I shove him away as he laughs. 


	8. *Bonus* Jody: Winter of 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick short about what happened when Jody told Mabe to leave.

The door’s sturdier than I anticipated, or I’m getting too old to be doing this. Once it gives, I stumble through and find myself in the middle of a werewolf stand off, but only one of them has changed. Mabe’s looking wild eyed and scared. She’s got every right to be, with that gangly, tall fucker standing by the window.

He clearly wasn’t expecting backup, since he doesn’t immediately attack. I’ve only heard Mabe’s side of all this mess, and the fact that she took off to Annapolis to stick her nose in his business again has me curious. “Hey, dude, go chill in the room.” I tell her, nodding to the open door.

“Jodes…”

“There’s some beer in the mini fridge. Go save me from the temptation, eh?” If he attacks, I can handle myself just fine. I just want Mabe out of there so I can get his side without her interference. 

Sulking, she finally leaves us alone. She’s too old to be pouting like that. 

“So, uh, you must be Aleksei?”

The werewolf’s teeth never flash again, but he looks confused. His tall ears are working in all directions, listening for an ambush or Mabe. Down the hall I can hear the door close. “Look, she got me involved in…” I gesture to the room. “Whatever this is. I just want to hear why she’s got it in for you so bad.”

His lopsided nostrils flare in a deep sigh. He’s wheezier than Mabe, looks almost sickly thin. It takes a few minutes before he can change back, so we’re just kinda standing around in awkward silence. Off night transformations take a lot out of them. Mabe said it was like that feeling when we accidentally smoked some of Candy’s laced stash: Your limbs feel like lead, your head’s all foggy, and you can barely hold your eyes open. 

Once he gets back down to his human shape, I can’t help but stare. “Sorry,” I mumble, scratching my neck. “I wasn’t expecting someone like me.”

“Like you?” He asks in a distinctly Eastern European accent, pulling the silky robe around himself like a security blanket; covering up that nice set of tits. 

We chat for a while, mostly in French to prevent eavesdropping. Mine’s rusty as hell, since I haven’t had to use it in almost a decade, but I can understand him just fine. He’s boneless on the bed, but surprisingly alert. Turns out he’s genderqueer, and his laugh is real nice. I lean against the headboard beside him, and he passes me the cigarette. “So she isn’t working for anyone?”

“Nah. I sent her out there because those killings looked suspicious. It’s out of my jurisdiction, but she and that guy we went to college with need monsters to hunt, ‘cause they got nothing else. A regular 9 to 5 just don’t suit their type, ya’know? When she told me what happened, I told her to drop it. Guess she didn’t, since you’re here.”

“She showed up at my home.”

“Shit, really? God damn it. She take anything?”

“Yes. She took the solid state drive out of my laptop, and two external hard drives.”

I scrub my face and sigh. “Of course she did. I was wondering why she suddenly took an interest in fixing up computers. I thought she was trying to do something for Candy or Holly, and just didn’t want to admit to them she didn’t know how.”

“I don’t want to kill her, but if she continues this path, I will be forced to deal with her.”

“I get it. Really, I do.” I nearly strangled Mabe when she got involved with my youngest sister a while back. I nipped that shit right in the bud. Joce hated me for weeks, but she doesn’t know Mabe like I do. Especially back then, when Mabe was at the height of her fucking up her’s and everyone else’s lives phase. I can forgive a lot, but there are some lines you just don’t cross. 

Aleksei takes a long drag and exhales, passing it back to me. He wants to retire, he tells me, but it’s been hard. Mabe springing up again could set him back. The facade drops as he talks, and I can see, for a moment, who Aleksei really is. I put a hand over his, “if she comes knocking again, you call me.”

His smile is nice when it finally reaches his eyes. They go to the silver and turquoise ring on my finger, and I see an elegantly simple gold band around his. “Troy knows I cruise. It’s not frequent, but sometimes I find someone too good to pass up.”

“Am I one of those exceptions?”

I prop up on my elbow as I turn towards him. His long hair is fine, silky, and still a bit damp from the change at the scalp. I tuck some behind his ear, and let my thumb graze his cheekbone. “Could be, if you’re down.”

He takes the cigarette from my lips, and stubs it out on the headboard. His movements are sluggish as he straddles my waist, and leans down to kiss my neck. I feel him pause, inhaling deeply. “What are you?”

“Something weird.” I can barely explain it myself, let alone someone who wasn’t around for all that alien cult bullshit.

He hums as he begins unbuttoning my shirt. His cool fingers trace the scars on my chest. “My husband is like you, “ he says, as his thumb brushes across my nipple. “I-“ He hesitates, and I wonder if he’s having second thoughts. “I don’t like being in control.”

I lean up, wrapping an arm around his skinny waist to ease him onto his back. “Then lay back and enjoy yourself, Aleksei.”

“Lexxy.”

I correct myself, leaning down to kiss his long neck. It’s a lovely name, both of them. Just a lovely as that cock. Lexxy’s big, and it’s a shame I won’t get to feel it in me, but I’m not one for being pushy. He certainly doesn’t seem to mind me going down on him. I feel his slender fingers in my hair, holding on tight. He’s the quiet type, like Troy; all soft gasps, and subdued groans. Almost like he’s afraid to be loud. I get it though, given the location and thin walls. 

After I work him open to three fingers, I get some noise out of him. From my periphery I can see him put a hand to his mouth to stifle himself. I let up off his dick so he doesn’t pop off too early on me. I don’t neglect it entirely. I can’t. A dick that big deserves some extra attention. When I nip at the base, he jumps a bit, and I chuckle. A quick glance up ensures he’s alright, more than alright. He’s the type who likes a little teeth.

He tugs at my hair, pulling me up for a kiss. I normally don’t kiss on occasions like this. It feels like cheating. But Lexxy’s mouth is hot and welcoming. We’re both married, so there’s no harm in this, eh? It’s not like I’m going to be breaking up their marriage, and mine after this.

I don’t understand what he says against my lips. It’s Russian, but that’s as much as I can make of it. Beneath me, his hips thrust against my fingers. I think I get the gist of it. It’s an awkward position for me, with my arm sandwiched between us, but it works. Hell, it works for me too. If I angle it just right, I can rub myself against the back of my hand as I push into him. 

Lexxy hooks a leg around my waist. If I knew him better, I’d try the whole hand. He felt like he could take it, but shit like that requires a lot of trust. I don’t know how to read Lexxy’s signals, so I keep it to the three. It gets the job done as he comes with a shaky gasp, biting down on my shoulder. 

Normally I’d be fine with finishing myself off. Especially since he’d just had an off night transformation. Lexxy wasn’t having that though. He grips my hips before I can roll off to the side. “Come here,” he says in that lovely breathless voice. I let him guide me up until my knees are on either side of his head. 

He’s a good kisser, and even better at giving head. I have to grip the headboard as he sucks my dick. I feel his nose pressing into the hair, hear the deep inhales, followed by the hot puffs of breath on my folds. His nails score my back, ass and thighs. Christ, he feels so good. 

It’s not long before it’s over for me. My legs feel like jelly when I come, and I’m holding onto that headboard like a lifeline, mostly to keep myself from collapsing on his face. 

Afterwards, he’s propped up against the pillows, ankles crossed while he smokes. He holds the plastic cup of water in one hand like a chalice. How someone looks so regal in a shitty motel room is beyond me, but he manages it. He watches as I button my jeans, and tuck in the front of my shirt.

The word vomit spills out before I can stop myself: “Hey, uh, we’re going to eat at that silver line out front tomorrow before heading out. You want to join us? Maybe lay some rules down for Mabe?”

His lips part slightly, like he’s about to say something and thinks better of it. Lexxy doesn’t meet my eyes, instead looking at the cigarette between his fingers, “I would like that, but I think it’s for the best that I don’t.”

Yeah, he’s probably right. It makes what we did more real. If we both fall asleep and never see each other again, it’s easier. I love Troy with all my heart, but I could see myself fucking up ten years of being together for someone like Lexxy. I’d absolutely regret it, but I know my willpower is dogshit when it comes to a pretty face with a big dick. “Alright then. Well, as much as I hate to say it, I hope we don’t have to meet again.”

His smile is tired, and his eyes are sad as he agrees. 

As the door closes behind me, I realize I still got Mabe to deal with. Christ. She’ll know what I’ve been up to the second I walk in that door. I steel myself, and swipe the key card. She’s going to give me hell for this. 


	9. Aleksei: Spring of 1987

It’s intoxicating, the smell of it, the sight crawling away from me on white tile. It’s movements are slow now. The blood is thick on my tongue and coats my teeth. It froths at the corners of my mouth, and hangs in ropes from my lips. If only it’d scream again, fight with frantic desperation. I lean down, and roll it over. The eyes are distant, but there’s still life in there. Just a flicker of it, but it’s given up. Pity. 

I grip it’s chin and force it to look at me. I breathe out a shrill cry over it’s face, and there’s a flicker of recognition. Oh, I’ve seen the videos. I want it to know that. This is a quicker death than it deserves, but my time is limited. I glance up at the alarm clock on the nightstand: 2:37 AM. It’s daughter is due to be back around 3:30 or 4 AM. She’s off babysitting for another couple two floors down, so it largely depends on how much the new parents want to let loose. 

Once the shock has worn off, I’m certain she’ll be happier for it. I hope those memories have long been locked away and forgotten. The inheritance she’s set to gain should certainly make it easier. At least the photos and tapes I catalogued for evidence won’t be in her home any longer. 

Before I settle in to strip the meat from it’s thighs, I place the call.

“_You’ve reached the front desk, how may I help you_?”

Using it’s voice, I belch out: “Done.”

They don’t like me waiting at the scenes, now that the novelty of what I am has worn off. The clean up crews are nervous when I linger. It’s easier to mop up the aftermath if you don’t see what caused it. I stick around the tower long enough to make sure the daughter doesn’t come home early. Once the white van pulls into the parking lot, I take off into the small patch of jungle separating the condo from the residential area. 

Juna calls me at dawn, requesting I come in. She’s apologetic, but reminds me: “That was just a side gig. You still have work.” 

I hang up, and roll over. I should get up; fix a pot of coffee, and grab something to eat on the way out. In stead, I let my eyes close for just a moment. 

  
“Lexxy?” Dior’s voice pulls me to the surface. His blurry face is close to mine, and I smile. “Hey baby, the phone’s been ringing since I got here.”

Damn it. 

When I fumble for the receiver, I look over and see that it’s half past noon. Fuck me. Thankfully it’s Nikki. She’s angry that I was a no show, but at least I can speak to her in Russian. I don’t have to fumble over English, while also trying to keep Dior in the dark about the conversation. I remind her that the change takes a lot out of me, especially if I don’t make a kill the previous month. 

They hadn’t provided me with a target, and by the time I realized they weren’t, it was too late to do my own digging. So I forwent a hunt, and paid the price. Therefor they should as well. It’s only fair. “If you don’t like it, then don’t forget the fine print in our agreement.”

“Fine, whatever. Just get over here tomorrow. Early, Aleksei, like ass crack of dawn early. Johnny will get you caught up. You’re working with Mike by the way.”

Of course I am. The others didn’t like working with the ex-cop, but he was decent when he didn’t have a nose full of powder. I’m grateful Nikki isn’t aware of my hatred of the other one, the short one, or I’m certain she would’ve stuck me with it-him. Him. I can’t think of him like that. Not now. Tuck that thought away for later, when the time is right. When he won’t be missed.

Dior’s hands are on either side of my head as he leans over me. His thighs are warm against my side, and pin me beneath the sheets. “I’ll be there.” I say, and hang up as Dior kisses me. 

“You still up for going to the beach?” He asks, his lips finding every sensitive spot on my neck. The mattress dips to one side as his hand pushes the sheets down to run over my chest. 

I would be happy to stay here, but we had made plans. Certainly we could forget them, but I’d hate for his entire trip to be spent within these walls, when he wasn’t visiting family. So I sit up, chasing his lips, and pulling him close. “Let me eat something first.”

“I got you something to eat right here,” he says, but can’t keep a straight face for long. Dior snorts, “That sounded way sexier in my head.”

“Mm, I can save you for dessert.”

I adore his laugh. “Jesus Christ, you’re even cheesier than me.”

As I brew the coffee, and microwave the leftovers I’d frozen, Dior goes through my closet. “Which shirt did you want as a coverup?” He calls from the bedroom. I see him lean out of the door, holding up two options.

The white would be too sheer, and it tends to wash me out if I don’t have something to pair with it. So I tell him that the blue one would be best. As tempting as it is to opt for something darker, it’s mid-May. I’ve already resigned myself to getting sunburn, so I didn’t want to add the misery of dark clothes on top of that.

I take the mug into the bedroom and see that he hasn’t laid out my usual Speedo. He’s picked the black bikini I bought on impulse. “Dior… I.”

He stops me there, placing a finger over my lips. “You bought that to make yourself happy. It’d be a shame for it to just keep sitting in the back of your closet.” He lowers his hand, and rises on tip toe to kiss my cheek. “Be yourself, just for a little bit.”

That was last night. The full moon brings out my true self, but I bite my tongue. He knows. He’s seen me twice now. Twice too often, but I was a fool to think that I could keep it hidden while maintaining a relationship. I’m so afraid of losing him.

I let Dior help me into it. He ties the top for me, adjusts the cups. There’s just enough padding to give me some shape. I’m terrified by how much I enjoy it, and quickly button myself into the shirt to avoid looking at my chest. 

Undoing the top three buttons, Dior wraps his arms around my waist. He nips lightly at my chest, right above the triangle cup. “I could just throw you on the bed right now.” I wish he would. No one would stare at me here. “But,” he can’t help the grin. It’s the type of grin that betrays that something’s planned. “That’ll have to just wait.”

I go down to start the car while he finishes packing the bag. I’d prefer the bike with how pleasant the weather is today, but I feel safer behind tinted windows. I lean back in the seat and glance up at the rearview mirror. Dior’d talked me into some minimal eyeliner. “Just enough to boost that confidence,” he’d said. It’s not immediately noticeable. At least it won’t be, until it inevitably smudges.

Once Dior slides into the passenger seat, we’re off. His hand is resting above my knee, a comforting pressure as he lightly squeezes. He’s preoccupied with flipping through the cassettes until settling on Peter Gabriel’s So. We don’t share much in common with musical taste, but that’s our middle ground. 

It doesn’t truly set in until I pull into the sandy parking lot. Once I step out of this car, I’ll pull my shoes and jeans off. Everything hidden away will be exposed for anyone to see. Thankfully Dior is on the other side of the car. He doesn’t have to see how bad my fingers shake as I unbutton my jeans. 

When I shut the door, I catch my reflection in the window. For a moment I don’t recognize myself. For a moment I see what Dior insists on seeing. Then the wind blows the front of the shirt up, and I find myself fighting to cover up, desperate to keep the string bikini hidden beneath the blue linen. 

Dior smiles at me over the roof, “you ready?” The wind carries the scent of shea butter and coconut on his skin. It only has a faint tinge of that offensive sunblock odor. He’d found something that doesn’t aggravate my senses. I can’t wear it myself, but I hope the shirt, and wide brimmed black sunhat will keep me from getting burnt. 

We walk the beach together, as I fight a losing battle against the wind. It finds every gap in the shirt, trying to pull it open for everyone to see. I feel eyes I don’t see looking at every part of me: My hairy legs, my crooked toes and knobby joints, the obvious swell the padded cups give my chest and the dark hair that’s exposed above it. Dior takes my hand, pulling it away from the grip I had on the fabric. “You look stunning, Lexxy.” 

At least I’m sunburnt enough that he can’t see just how warm my cheeks get. The hat hadn’t helped much, but it kept things from being much worse. At least it won’t blister. 

The crowd thins the longer we walk. The noise dies, and I can hear the calls of gulls as they wheel in lazy circles. Ahead are rows of large beach houses, each with their own little personal dock. Private beaches. Wealthy tourists who only come here a month or two out of the year, but keep locals from enjoying the area for the entirety. The tracks of the patrol truck are fresh enough that the wind hasn’t worn them down. They won’t be back this way for a while. 

I suspect Dior knows this. He tugs me towards the dunes near one of those houses. It’s later than I realized. The sun is setting, and the sky is a brilliant palette of pinks and oranges on a dark backdrop. It’s beautiful here. I can see the appeal of these homes, but to take up so much space is selfish. 

Dior takes the hat off, and runs his fingers through my hair. He pulls me down to the towel he’s laid out, telling me how beautiful I am. The conviction in his voice is enough that I’m starting to believe him.

“Could you get something for me?” He asks. “It’s at the bottom of the bag.” I can feel his smile against my ear. 

Beneath the extra towel, and sweatpants, my fingers touch leather. He’d packed a strap on, and the red dildo he’d bought before my birthday. Despite the fear of being seen, there’s a thrill to it. Through the giddiness that makes my fingers shake, I buckle it around his hips.

Ignoring the bottle of lube, I take the dildo into my mouth. Dior’s breath comes out ragged as he watches. His fingers rake my scalp, and tighten in my hair. His hips press it deeper, and I relax my throat to let him fuck it. His gruff “take it, baby” makes my cock leap, and strain against the constrictive bikini. My eyes are starting to water, and I’m sure the eyeliner is making it’s way down my cheeks.

Afterward, wiping my face with his thumb, he coaxes me to straddle his waist. He tugs the ties at my hips loose, and tosses the bikini bottoms to the side. I hesitant for a moment, letting some of the spit dry before sinking down. I want a little drag and pull. 

It’s not often I let myself go. Just for a moment, I forget where we are. I forget all my nervousness, and paranoia. I forget Dior’s human, as I dig my fingers into his shoulders and ride him hard. I lean back and close my eyes, reveling in the sensation of it all: The wind that slips beneath the shirt, the sand under my knees that’s blown onto the towel, Dior’s hands on my hips, the sound of his groaned: “Fuck,” and the slap of skin against skin. 

I didn’t have to think, and I didn’t want to. Work is as distant as the full moon. When I open my eyes, Dior is watching me. One of his hands lifts away from my hip, and I suck in a breath as he twists his fist over the head of my cock. The way he looks at me, heavy lidded and breathless, could’ve ended me then. In stead, I close my eyes again, and throw my head back. I want to lose myself to this. 

It’s not until my cum is drying across his belly, both of us laying on the towel with the chilly sand beneath, that I notice the scratches. Dior kisses my fingertips, “don’t you dare be sorry,” he says. “Because that tells me you don’t intend on doing it again.”


	10. Dior: The Summer of 1999

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's just porn

God, Aleksei is so fucking beautiful like this. On his knees, lips parted and wet. His cheeks were still splotchy, and the tears hadn't dried. He catches his breath, then licks the head of the dildo I'd just fucked his mouth with. 

It all goes right to my dick. Every time. When he looks up at me through those lashes, and takes it down to the hilt. Good Christ, I could probably come just from this. Then he pulls away, and runs his tongue down the length of the dildo until he reaches the base. I can feel his breath against my skin as he says "please?"

"Please what?" Say it, Lexxy. Please say it. 

His tongue slips between my folds. He's doing it on purpose. I catch the sly upturn of his mouth, and how the corners of his eyes crinkle. It’s back and forth, never one sided. He can push just as much as I can.

I take a fistful of his hair, and pull until he's looking up at me. "Please what, baby?"

"Fuck me," he breathes.

I pull him up. He pushes my hair behind my shoulders and kisses me. I can taste myself on him. The word is whispered against my lips, the one that makes my knees weak. It never fails to make me hot for it, and he's selective in his use. He waits, bides his time, and slips it in when it'll catch me off guard. 

The last button of his shirt finally comes free, and I push it down. The lace bralette nearly blends in with the dark hair covering his chest. I cup one of his breasts and rub my thumb over the nipple. Aleksei's gasp gives me the encouragement I need to slide the strap from his shoulder. He doesn't stiffen or pull away now, and groans when I take his nipple in my mouth. 

His fingers work their way deep into my hair. I can feel his nails against my scalp. I could just stay here forever. 

His cock is straining against his pants. When I pull away, his cheeks are flushed, and his pupils are blown out. I fight the urge to look away, when the shyness creeps in. I've never told him my fantasies involving his tits. He's so self conscious about them, and they were sore while they were developing. So I kept pushing it back. It just turned into a worry about it later thing, and the further I pushed, the more nervous I became. It’s not like I’m worried he’ll be disgusted. Aleksei’s always been so open to trying things.

As I unzip his pants, my other hand kneads his breast. His nipple is stiff under my fingers. I can feel his heart beat against my palm. 

"Are you going to behave?" I ask, taking his cock in hand. I can see how his nostrils flare just slightly, how his eyes narrow. He's debating on how rough he wants it. How quick he'll be allowed to come. 

He sucks in a breath when my thumb grazes the head of his cock. "Yes." 

I could push it. Make him say it again. In stead I snare a nipple between my teeth, and feel him thrust into my hand. 

Aleksei lets me push him onto the couch. As much as I want to see him, he needs to feel safe. I don't stop him from hiding his face in the pillows. His long fingers dig into the arm rest while I press into him. He never removed the plug. He never stopped me. I still find myself surprised at what he can take. The dildo slips right in alongside it. 

His hand lifts up, and I stop moving. He needs a moment. I can feel how his legs tremble, and see his ribs expand as he takes deep breaths. “It’s so much,” he gasps. But he never says “too much.” I stroke his thigh, enjoying how the hair feels beneath my palm.

After a moment, his hand lowers back to the arm rest. There's a deep sigh, and his back arcs to push me deeper. "Okay?" I ask.

He nods. He doesn't look back. I lean forward, and he groans into the pillow. "Yes or no, Lexxy?”

"Yes." 

I thrust into him, and he says it again, and again. He's meeting me, pushing his hips back. The thin walls don't matter. He's not trying to be quiet anymore. 

Before he gets too close, I pull out. This time he looks over his shoulder, hair clinging to his face. I take the plug, and it slides free with no resistance. God, he's loose now. When I circle his hole, he bites his lip, waiting, and trying not to lean into it. He'd promised to behave, but I can see the temptation. 

I reward him with a rough thrust. The way his lips part in a silent moan is beautiful. Without the plug, it sounds sloppy. Lewd. I'm so painfully hard.

He's getting so close, but I don't want him to come just yet. Not like this. I unbuckle the harness and let the dildo fall to the floor alongside the plug. "Let me see you."

Aleksei rolls over with no hesitation. His hands never move up to his face. In stead they grip my hips as I straddle his waist. I grind myself along his shaft, until we both are panting and shuddering. Come glistens in the thick hair on his belly. 

We’ll worry about the throw blanket later. His cool hands rest on my back when I lay over him. The come, spit, and lube spots can wait. I don’t want to move. I listen to the sound of his heart quickening on each inhale, and slowing on the exhale. The rhythm makes my eyelids heavy, and we’re both reluctant to acknowledge the door bell when it chimes. 


	11. Dior: The Fall of 1988

The blazer fits perfectly. I stare at myself in the floor length mirror and just smile. It’s silly, but this is the first time I’ve really thought: Wow, I look good. The cut camouflages the shape of my chest perfectly without it being so obvious. There’s still the lingering feeling of guilt over using the money Aleksei puts in our joint account, but he’d suggested going to the tailor in the first place. 

He’s on the bed, one leg crossed over the other, as he slides his feet into sleek black heels. The gown rises up, exposing him to the thigh. Just enough to see the garter straps securing the stockings in place. His hair has been blown out a bit, giving it more body. It falls in loose waves over one shoulder, drawing my eye to the deep v where the Saint Christopher pendant hangs between his hairy breasts. He glances up to see me staring and his cheeks flush.

My God, when he stands up in those heels, he towers over me. I’m at eye level with his chest, and for a hot second the intense urge to squeeze his tits together, and motorboat him strikes. That’ll have to wait. Any other night he’d probably laugh, but he’s nervous now. This is the first time he’s ever considered going out in a dress. Most of the formal events and dinners we’ve gone to, he tones himself down with some cigarette pants and pointed-toe flats. Feminine enough that he’s comfortable, but not obvious enough to draw unwanted attention.

We don’t make it past the porch. 

As I grab the keys and start towards the car, I realize that the clip-clop sound of heels on concrete isn’t following behind me. He’s still in the foyer, back to the wall, and breathing rapidly. When I close the door, he slides to the floor and clutches at his neck with shaking hands. “I can’t.” He says, and inhales sharply. “I can’t. Do this.” Then says something I can’t quite make out. I catch just enough to piece together that he’s apologizing. At least I think so. I’ve heard him say what sounds like “prastee” before in a similar context.

After switching the hallway light off, I sit beside him and press my arm against his. Close enough for comfort, but not stifling. “We don’t have to go out.” He turns his face away from me, and his shoulders hunch forward. “Lexxy. Baby, it’s fine, really. We’ll stay in, order something from Giorgio’s, and drink out of a can like some classy bitches.”

It takes scooting over to sit in front of him before he looks at me. The eyeliner and mascara are smudged around his watery eyes, leaving dark tracks down his cheeks. “Honestly, I’d rather do this than go eat overcooked lamb with my boss.” I kiss his cheek and jaw before resting my brow against his. “I mean it.”

Eventually, he calms down enough that I can pull him to his feet. I take his cold hands and walk him to the couch. The look of shame on his face hasn’t lifted when I tuck his hair behind his ears. I untangle the pearl drop earring from an unruly lock that’d twisted itself around the chain. “There will be other galas. Just because we couldn’t make it to this one, doesn’t mean we won’t go in the future.” I slide onto his lap. “But it does mean I get you all to myself tonight.”

That gets just a hint of a smile. I lean forward and kiss him, enjoying the light floral sweetness of his perfume. Obsession is his everyday scent, but for special occasions he busts out the Carven. I love how warm it is on him, and how it fades to a fruity apricot. Very few scents work well with that musky odor he gives off, but when he finds something… oh, it’s good.

For a few minutes I sit there and let him hide away from everything. He clutches at me and buries his face in my neck and hair. Beneath my palms I can feel his heart hammering away frantically. This is the second panic attack this week. The first, luckily, came out of nowhere while we were both at home. It hit while he was just doing some work in his office. Afterward, he told me he didn’t know what triggered it. 

I rub circles between his shoulders. The silk feels nice as I run my fingers along the smooth bumps of his spine. “What should we get from Giorgio’s?” I ask, wanting to take his mind off of the situation. He’s also extraordinarily picky about Italian food. Aleksei can’t stand the taste and smell of oregano. It makes him sick to his stomach, and tomatoes cause his rosacea to flare up.

  
We end up eating a mushroom calzone at the kitchen bar. Aleksei’s tall pumps are sitting on the counter, next to the box. He’s been quiet, and mostly monosyllabic throughout the meal. Aleksei’s never been chatty, but there’s a difference in the silence. He’s sitting stiff, focusing only on the food in front of him. After coming so far, stumbling stings all the more. I get it. There’ve been so many days where I think I’m passing, and some dipshit drops the “ma’am” in my lap.

As much as I’d like to be the one who distracts him and draw him out of his own head, he’s got to do that himself. I can talk him through a panic attack, and I can be there for him, but the rest is up to him. He really needs to see someone, but getting him to even come to the group counseling meeting at the LGBT Center is like pulling teeth. I’d briefly wondered if the Agency had a therapist he could see; someone who could handle the lycanthropic side of his psyche, but I don’t trust them. I don’t know if patient confidentiality applies to their people.   
  
It’s not until I’m stuffing the folded box in the garbage that he seems to come out of it. When he’d gotten up and taken his shoes into the bedroom, I was expecting him to have crawled into bed. That was his usual way of coping: Sleep it off. Instead, he slips up behind me, silent on stockinged feet. His arm snakes around my waist and I feel his lips behind my ear. It’s a light embrace, but there’s need behind it. His nose brushes against my hair as he whispers: “I love you more than you can ever know.”

I lean back against him. When I turn in his arms and look up, I can see a lot of the tension has worked it’s way out. There’s still a hint of melancholy, but the worst of it’s blown over. He’s still a bit pale though. I coax him down to meet my lips, loving how the stubble rasps against my beard, and the sound of his soft gasp around my tongue. 

It doesn’t go much beyond that. We stay up for another hour, lounging on the couch in wrinkling formal wear. Aleksei reads while I watch TV. His feet are tucked beneath my thigh, and his glasses have already worked halfway down his nose. 

I reach over and squeeze his knee. His mustache lifts in a smile when he looks at me over the slightly skewed glasses. He lifts the book, and I stretch out over him. While my head rests on his chest, his fingers work into my hair until I can feel the scratch of his nails against my scalp. That alone could’ve put me right to sleep. I close my eyes and listen to the now steady rhythm of his heart.

If it weren’t for his legs and my left arm falling asleep, we’ve probably spent the whole night on the couch. I’m reluctant to leave my spot, but I drag myself upright. Aleksei leans on me while he walks on pins and needles to the bedroom.

When it’s time for that gown to come off, it’s a shame, but I can appreciate the sight of the silk sliding down his figure to pool on the floor. It, along with my shirt goes in the dry cleaning hamper. The blazer should, but I can just hang it in the bathroom next time one of us showers. That should take care of the worst of the wrinkles around the elbows. Clothes don’t look right unless they’re a little lived in.

The calzone’s sitting heavy in my guts and making me sleepy. So I don’t bother finding pajamas. I just toss my undershirt and sports bra next to the door. I’m already fighting my eyelids when Aleksei steps out in a loose black v-neck, and silky floral print shorts with socks pulled up over his knees. He swings one of those long stork legs over me, and then settles beneath the covers. 

  
It’s been like this for a few months. I’d never seen Aleksei have a panic attack until recently. Well, I’m sure he’s had them, but for it to be bad enough that he actually lets it show, that’s new. The first month of HRT, Aleksei seemed fine, a bit more irritable in the mornings, but fine. The Agency doctor warned us that she wasn’t sure how estrogen would affect him, given his lycanthropy. It’s a huge unknown because he’s not human. 

About a week and a half into month two was the first time he had a major panic attack. That was a side effect I expected though. When I started testosterone, I had them really bad for about three months. 

The flare ups, though. That was something neither of us predicted. They started right around the same time as the panic attacks. 

The first one he experienced was when we’d gone out for dinner one evening. He’d worn makeup. Noticeable makeup. It was fine at first. He was nervous, but he usually is when he goes out in feminine things he can’t disguise. Apparently, he’d noticed a group eyeing him at the bar, and everything went downhill from there. I’m glad I’d noticed it wasn’t a regular panic attack, because he nearly had a full transformation in the car.

The latest one catches us both off guard. Maybe it’s the stress from missing the dinner? Maybe it’s from work? What was just a casual trip to the mall goes right to hell, and fast.

It hits just past the Gap. Aleksei’s walking beside me, and then suddenly he isn’t. I turn around to see him sway a bit on unsteady feet. He looks disoriented, spacey. There’s a rosacea redness to his cheeks and the tip of his nose. As he looks up, the light catches his pupils in a flash of bright gold.

I know what this is. I know what’s about to happen. In a panic, I grab his wrist. His skin is feverishly hot against my fingers, as I pull him into the hallway that leads to the restrooms. Please, God, don’t let anyone be in the family bathroom. Please don’t let that door be locked.

His shoulder scrapes the wall, and his breaths are coming out in shallow wheezes. Beneath my palm bones move in an unnatural way, making the muscles shift like waves. “Just keeping breathing, baby. Stay with me for a little while longer.” I whisper.

The handle gives, and I thank every saint and god I knew. I press the lock and wait. It’s the third time this month he’s had a flare up. They’re more frequent but less severe than they used to be. He only partially shifts; not even enough to bother pulling his shirt off. It’s around the face and hands this time.

Afterward, he’s got his eyes covered and his tongue pressed into the roof of his mouth. The pain he describes is like a vice squeezing his skull. The florescent lights cause him the most discomfort, but there’s no way to turn them off. So I take my coat and hold it over our heads. I’m there with him, in the dark. I can still see the pinpoints of light behind his pupils, but it’s fading. “Can you make it to the car, or do you want me to pull around to the Saks?”

Aleksei rests his forehead against mine. He’s still so warm, which means it hasn’t finished running its course. There’s still a huge risk of a full transformation, especially if he gets anxious. “Just,” his voice is halting. “I want.” He’s getting flustered, I can feel it. “I want. It. To stop.”

If we didn’t have a peacoat pressed around us, I’d smooth back his hair. Instead, I hug him close, and awkwardly stroke his shoulders. “It’ll pass just like rest. You’re fine.” I don’t know if he is. It’s not like we can just go to a doctor about this.

It has to be the stress exacerbating everything. There’s a high stakes job the Agency has him working on, and it’s been rough. He’s working with new people; people he doesn’t particularly like. His old crew, the one he ran with in Casteries, have long since scattered to the wind. They retired or continued with their lives. Aleksei wasn’t allowed to. Aleksei’s a valuable asset. An attack dog who happened to know a lot about computers. The money’s good, but they’re running him ragged.

I hum and rock him in time with the tune. Soon, his body begins to cool. His cheeks are still warm, but it’s more from the built up heat beneath the coat. He covers his eyes as I pull it off of us. The light is still bothering him, but he thinks he can make it to the parking deck.

It’s at the intersection two blocks from the house, that he loses it. Throughout the drive he was quiet. More so than usual. Then, just out of nowhere, he sobs. After that, it’s like a dam burst. I’ve seen him cry like that only twice: The night we tried to go to the dinner; and after the phone call with Catharine, when his mom’s dementia took a bad turn.

I can’t do more than put a comforting hand on his thigh until we get back to the house. In the driveway, I lean across the center console and wrap my arms around him. It leaves me feeling helpless, like there’s nothing I can do or say that’d help him. But I can be here for him, and hope whatever this is passes.

At least it’s a temporary regimen. The plan, tentatively, is for him to stay on the pill for another three months. Long enough to see if his breasts will develop a bit more, but not long enough for any further changes. Aleksei just wants to be somewhere in the middle. 

We just have to weather this a little longer. If he could stand being around me when my dosage was cut in half; or the ten months of hell that was me having to go off of testosterone entirely, after I was diagnosed with polycythemia, then I can do this. It’s tough, but the end result will be him happier with himself.

Even though the path is rocky, and I promised to be at his side every step of the way, I do find myself wanting to stay at work a little longer. It began as taking my time running errands, or going off with friends more frequently. It isn’t going to do us any favors if we try the whole avoidance thing. 

It’s dark by the time I pull up to the house. I’d left work on time, but decided to go grocery shopping. I feel a bit guilty, but we were out of milk, and the laundry detergent was getting low. I did pick up an angel food cake with some fresh strawberries as an apology.

“Lexxy?” I call when I don’t see him in the living room, or the kitchen. He could be in bed already, or in his office. The leftovers we had from yesterday are gone when I check the fridge. Ugh, and the last of the potato salad has been eaten too. I knew I should’ve stopped by McDonalds like I’d wanted. I’m not supposed to eat red meat, but I’ve been jonesing for a burger.

Well, at least there’s still some frozen pelmeni left. I pop them in the microwave while I finish unpacking the groceries. 

Upstairs, the office door is shut. I crack it, expecting to see the cold light of computer monitors, but it’s dark. An empty can of ginger ale is still sitting beside the keyboard, which wasn’t there when I left this morning. I can still feel the fading warmth of the tower as I toss the can in the waste bin beneath the desk. 

Turns out Aleksei isn’t asleep either. I nearly slam the door when I see him arched on the bed. We’ve been together for so long, but there’s just something about walking in on someone masturbating that feels so intrusive. 

He sees me. He can’t not in the closet’s mirrored doors. There’s a slight hesitation, then he lets his knees fall to either side, so I can really get a good look.

Fuck, it’s hot. Even with the invitation to watch, it still feels taboo. I can’t just stand there like a creep. I have to touch him. So I slide in between him and the pillows, letting him rest against my chest. He leans into me, angling his face towards my neck to hide in my hair. I’m not about to let that happen.

“Look at yourself, baby.” I tilt his chin so he’s facing the mirror. “You’re so pretty,” I say against his crown and hear his breath hitch. 

We both have our issues with dysphoria. We’ve aired them all out before, though Aleksei is still pretty cagey with his hang ups. Shit, I didn’t realize he wanted breasts; not until he came home from a bad consultation absolutely devastated. 

I reach down and run my fingers along the underside of one of them. My thumb brushes a nipple and he gasps. I’m tempted to fuck him with the dildo laying next to his thigh, but I don’t want to obscure his view. At least not right yet. I want him to come first. 

When he does, he arches against me and groans into my neck. I stroke his hair, as it subsides, and feel him relax in my arms. His cheeks are splotchy, and it’s hard to tell if it’s from the orgasm or hormones. Maybe it’s a bit of both. Still, he’s gorgeous like this, with come streaked across his belly, and his silky pajama pants around one ankle.

I leave him just long enough to grab a damp hand cloth and the harness. After I wipe him off, I take the double-ended dildo in hand. “Turn over and spread those legs, Lexxy.” There’s no resistance as it slides all the way in. “Hold it for me,” I say, knowing it’ll be hard in this position. He’s always had great muscle control though. 

I run my hand up the back of his thigh, and reach beneath his hips to grab his cock. He jumps and covers his head with both arms, as I circle my thumb over the sensitive tip. I don’t stop until he’s squirming, and fighting to stay flat of his stomach. 

It’s been a while, and I don’t know what he’s been up to. So I’m not risking stretching him too much. The dildo I chose is only slightly larger than his cock, and the smallest one we got. 

Inch by inch, I pull the dildo out of him. His breath comes out in a shudder as the last of it slides free. 

I press a kiss to his lower back, and when I glance up, he’s looking over his shoulder. Reaching forward, I grab a fistful of hair as I lean over to shove my tongue into his mouth. “You good?” I ask while he chases my lips. 

“Mmhm,” he hums. 

There’s a slyness in his eyes when he pointedly doesn’t give me a solid yes or no. God, I’ve missed this. I give a rougher tug to his hair and hear his groan, feel him buck back against me. “I need an answer. Are you good?” 

He says it. The thing that makes desire pool hot in my belly. His soft, breathless “fuck me, daddy” hits home. 

It never fails to make me feel as good as it did the first time he used it. Fuck, it was what? Three? Four years ago? Before my facial hair really started coming in anyway. We’d gone on a date, and the entire evening I was misgendered left and right. All night. 

I remember how he felt on that motorcycle. The tense line of his shoulders. The vibration beneath me, and the heat against my calves. The sticky summer warmth of his back, and the smell of citrus in his hair. He’d stopped me after we got off on the fourth floor, and pulled me into the breezeway where the cigarette machine was. It was there, pushed up against the wall, he gave me head and called me “daddy”. 

I can remember his face so clearly. He leaned against my thigh all flushed, and his mustache was damp. When he looked up at me through those long lashes, there was smudged and rubbed away eyeliner still around them. He’d chickened out at the last minute before we left the condo, and scrubbed off most of his makeup.

It felt so good. So validating. For the longest time, I’d considered us the reverse. Aleksei’s older than me, taller, and hairier by a huge margin. He pays for nearly everything, except the cable and grocery bill, at my insistence. To hear it from him meant so much. Means so much. 

My hips meet his with no drag or resistance, just one swift motion buries me to the hilt. That gets an almost shocked gasp of “lyubimi” from him. It’s a word I’ve heard him say to me a few times, but never quite figured out what it means. 

He meets every thrust, bows his back as I yank on his hair, and doesn’t stifle himself. It’s the loudest I’ve ever heard him. The force of his hips, and the leather between my legs drives me over the edge before I even realize it’s happening. “Fuck.” The gruff sound of my own voice is jarring, even to me. Has it really been this long?

I have to stop, and it’s then his legs give out, as he collapses onto his stomach. Between the lube and sweat on the covers, it’s hard to tell if he came a second time. 

I don’t want to move, and I’m sure he doesn’t either. Unbuckling the harness, I toss it to the floor to worry about later. Right now I just want to lay beside him while we catch our breath. 

“Thank you.” His voice is low, almost shy. “For everything.” He takes a breath and draws himself closer to my side.

I look down at him then. The fatigue is making his right eyelid droop more than usual. His cheeks and nose are still red, because he’s not supposed to be eating a lot of wheat products, but stubbornly still does. His thin, sweat damp hair clings to his neck and shoulders. He’s fucking beautiful. “You promised to be there for me, no matter how bad things get,” I say, remembering what he’d told me that first night I stayed at his apartment; back when he was at the Buena Vista complex. 

He’d handed me a bag of frozen peas to put over my cheek, while he’d taken the lumpier pack of broccoli to hold over his swollen eye. He’d made tea, and we ate ring-shaped cookies with them. When he talked, all I could focus on were the cookies stacked on his pinky finger.

It’s just a change. Relationships evolve over time, and sometimes it’s for the better. Sometimes worst. It’s too early to tell which it is. I tell him “I love you,” and hear him repeat it against my skin while I stroke his hair. As gross as we’ll be in the morning, neither of us wants to get up and clean off. The duvet needs to go in the wash anyway, so that’s something to worry about later. 


	12. Aleksei: The Winter of 1990

“What do you think it’d be like,” Dior asks, nodding to the family sitting a few tables away. “Having a child?”

It’s not something I’ve ever considered. As I got older, when I realized I was attracted to men, one of my first thoughts had been: At least I don’t have to worry about becoming like my father. I don’t have to worry about passing lycanthropy to someone else. I don’t have to worry about the heartache that comes with such a high childhood mortality rate. 

“I don’t know.”

I hope that’s the end of it, but the topic returns a few weeks later. We’re laying in bed. It’s late in the morning, but the heavy rain and rumbling thunder makes both of us reluctant to get out from beneath the covers. I’d been dozing when Dior rolls over to look at me. When he doesn’t say anything right away, I open my eyes. His expression is hard to read. It’s not exactly sad. Apprehensive, perhaps?

I run my fingers over the silk scarf wrapped around his hair, and smooth a tuft that’d gotten loose during the night back beneath it. He’s been tossing and turning more. Enough that I’ve noticed. “Is something the matter?”

“I think I want to start a family with you.” Before I can have a chance to respond, Dior continues in a nervous, rapid-paced, rehearsed speech. “I’ve always thought about it, you know? I used to dream that if I was ever financially stable, I’d want a baby. Then I transitioned, and put that thought away… but it keeps coming back. We’re in a good place, a good neighborhood, we have neighbors that actually like us.”

“Dior-“

“I’m scared that if I keep putting off talking about this, it’ll be too late to even consider it.”

How do I tell him? How do I say no to him? My reasoning, when I take a step back, feels selfish. I’m not my father. If it were the other way around, I’d be mindful of his decision. So why am I so afraid to voice my opinion?

It’s the fear of him leaving. He’s put up with so much. He tells me he’d do it all over, but that voice at the back of my mind wonders if that’s true. If he had the chance to do it over again, would he simply not have returned to Saint Lucia to confront me? He could’ve stayed in Florida, made friends, had lovers. 

“Lexxy?” I focus on him, on his beautiful face and kind eyes. I can’t use the excuse of age, because he’s only 27. He understands the hazards that comes with my work. The addition of a child would complicate things, and he’s willing to risk it. The only excuse is mine. My fear and anxiety.

“What if it’s like me?”

Dior’s lips part, and his brows furrow. He’d not considered that. I roll onto my side, so I can tuck myself away, and hide against his throat. His skin still smells faintly of the lotion he’d put on last night. On the bottle, it claims to be unscented, but there’s still just a hint of an artificial floral fragrance in it. I preferred the shea lotion, but it’d been sold out last time we went shopping.

I take a breath and tell him about Sasha, my little brother who didn’t make it to his fourth birthday. I tell him how Catharine and I were sickly as children, how there were moments where my mother sat by our beds all night, because she was worried we wouldn’t wake up at dawn. “I’m scared of doing that to a child.” 

It’s partially true. I would feel guilty passing lycanthropy to another person. I’d feel guilty knowing that not only Dior, but a child could potentially be used to get to me. But it’s the fear of losing control that worries me most. Sleepless nights, crying, temper tantrums. How much of that could I tolerate?

He doesn’t say anything. I feel his lips press against my crown and his warm hand against my back. It’s left at that until the next week. 

We were both a little drunk, and looking into the glass of beer between his hands, Dior asks me: “Even if the worst happens, don’t you think it’d be worth it? Just to try?”

The pear cider I’d been sipping starts churning in my guts. Is this because his birthday is approaching? He’s thinking about time slipping away? As much as I hate it, I agree to try. I don’t want him to know how much the anxiety gnaws at my insides when I say: “Okay.” I’d hoped the look of happiness on his face would be infectious, but it leaves me feeling terrible for not saying how I really felt on the matter. 

This is what he wants; you’re just being selfish.

He stops injecting that Sunday. It’ll be about two weeks before we can start trying. Each day leaves me more and more anxious. At night I find myself staring at the ceiling for hours, sometimes until dawn. So I spend more time in the office. If I lose myself to work, my thoughts won’t spiral around the prospect of becoming a parent. 

Work exacerbates it. A target could certainly use a child against me, however, it’s my own people that concern me most. The Agency had denied my request for retirement after the White Jacket job. They denied my request for relocation until I’d aggravated Nikki enough that she’d taken it to whoever she answered to. Having a child would mean additional coverage, doctors to assess it because we couldn’t take it to a regular pediatrician. Dior couldn’t have it in the hospital six miles from the house. 

Why did I ever agree to meet up with Nikki at that dealership?

We try for two months before he has a period. That week had given me so much relief, but I could see it disappointed Dior.

Each pregnancy test box I see in the waste bin just fills me with dread. Dior’s been so considerate since I’ve had to top. He surprised me with a Sybian. Blindfolded and strapped down, he slid into my lap. I can’t deny it was good. It’d been months since I’d come that hard. 

Tonight, he teases me with his tongue, but I just can’t make it last. My mind keeps drifting to what’s going to happen, and what might result from it. Even the vibrator can’t distract me from the downward spiral. 

“Baby, it’s alright. We’ll pick this up again when you’re feeling up to it.” He kisses me, and I cling to him, not wanting to let go. If I let go, it’ll come out.

When he pulls away, I just smile at him. The words are on the tip of my tongue, and I’m too much of a coward to let them past my teeth. We put away the toys and settle in for the evening. I fear it’ll just be a lump in my throat, choking me forever.

It eats away at me bit by bit, night by night. I’m shedding more, and my rosacea has flared up enough that concealer doesn’t help. Dior asks if he should stop buying bread when he notices how red my cheeks are. I could say something now, but instead, I shake my head and say “don’t worry.”

“Are you sure you’re alright, baby?” He asks me in the car. We’d be out to the mall, and he’d frowned when I left the dress I liked in the changing room. I could see the worried line between his brows when he watched as I picked through the eyeliner, but stepped away from the counter empty-handed. I didn’t deserve nice things. 

“I’m just tired,” I lie, and give him a smile before I turn my attention back to the road.

Each time it’s more and more difficult to keep me hard. Dior buys a vibrating ring, and I come so quickly that it only ends up on the sheets. He takes it in stride. “I guess that was a bit too much, huh” he chuckles and kisses the damp skin between my shoulders.

The full moon grants me a reprieve. I welcome the change with a moan of ecstasy, letting it wash over me. For a few hours, I can let it all out. My frustration is vented in its flesh, and I scream until I’m hoarse. The home is isolated, in a rural community. An eyesore of a McMansion with a beige brick wall surrounding it’s bare, flat, yard. The stark white walls are splattered and streaked as I rip it to pieces, and eat the ragged remains of its thighs. 

I don’t stop there. I don’t stop when the bed is turned over, or the dresser’s contents are strewn across the floor. I rip the shelves out of the walk-in closet, and chew on the tough leather loafers until my saliva foams at the corners of my mouth. Mirrors shatter, vases break against the unoriginal mass-produced paintings. When I scream it’s just a wheezing rattle of air. 

Killing typically eased any knots twisted up in my guts. It was like sex. It left me sated, boneless, and occasionally a bit lightheaded. Not tonight. I paced the living room, walking the length of the white leather sofa. I could do this again. I could run the two and three-quarter miles to the next home. The McKinley’s, who had no idea their neighbor trafficked girls overseas. 

They have a dog though. 

I sweep the contents of the side table to the floor, and watch the bits and bobs clatter on the hardwood and oriental rug. A picture frame still stands alone, face down on the marble tabletop. I pick it up and look at the photo. Greg Dorset is smiling with its wife and two daughters. Two daughters who were the same age as a few of the girls it had sent to hotels in Milan. The glass cracks beneath my thumbs as I grip it. Patrica didn’t deserve the money coming to her, but the children did. It’s a shame she’s at an Avon party tonight, but it’s for the best. She’s on medication for epilepsy, and that makes the meat taste burnt and bitter. 

I fling the photo down the hall and listen to it skitter to a stop against the doorframe. Eddie and Jean were going to have their hands full when they get here. The scene is messier than usual, and I didn’t leave it contained to one room. They’ll have to stage a robbery gone wrong, I suppose.  
  
Still, when I leave, I pause at the edge of the forest near the McKinley’s. The upstairs windows were never locked, because their eldest son liked to sneak out to skate with his friends. 

The second window on the right slides open, and I hold my breath. I can feel saliva gathering in my mouth, and dangling from my lips. The boy climbs down using the lattice next to the sunroom. He drops the final few feet to the pine straw, and looks around, checking for his parents. 

I never see the dog, which means it’s in the house tonight. It would be easy, and quick.

No. They’ve done nothing. They’re not your target. I close my eyes and swallow. I’ve had my approved kill. I can’t take another. Especially one so nearby. 

At dawn, I vomit. Dior finds me in the bathroom, kneeling on the tile in front of the toilet. I accidentally swallowed most of a finger and a ring in my frenzy. It plinks against the porcelain when I finally cough it up. 

I feel his hand smoothing circles between my shoulders, while the other holds my hair back. Blood, snot, and spit are clinging to my face as I stare at the gold band. I’m scared to let Dior know the truth, because of how I felt last night. I looked at a child and saw a chance at new prey, of meat more tender than what I’d already eaten. What would happen if I ever thought of my own like that?

I tell him, finally. As he’s wiping the blood out of my mustache, I push the towel away and let it out. Every fear, every anxiety; the nights I spent unable to sleep, and last night. By the time I’m finished, my eyes sting and feel hot. I can’t mask how my lip trembles when I tell him how I’m still so afraid of my father, and ending up like him. I tell him how he’d wrench my arm and tell me that it would’ve been better to have eaten me. How it was him taking a brick to my face to finally push my mother into saying she’d had enough. I never want Dior to go through what my mother and I did. I never want to feel that anger in myself.

When it’s all out, I wait. I wish he would say something, anything. The silence pounds in my ears as he sits in front of me. He sets the towel on the counter, and instead of speaking, he gets up and walks out of the bathroom. 

It feels like something in me breaks, and it’s my fault. Catharine’s right. I’m a spineless coward. I let things fester until they turn rotten. My hands are still streaked with dried blood. It sticks to the hair on my arms, and is splattered over my chest. I press the heel of my palms into my eyes until I see spots. It doesn’t stop the sob that comes tearing through me and singes my already raw throat. 

The feeling doesn’t lessen as I shower. I find myself looking through the frosted glass, hoping to see Dior’s figure. He doesn’t come back. He’s not in the bedroom when I step out to get the robe from where it lay on the end of the bed. Should I seek him out? Will that make it worse? Will I make it worse?

He’s not upstairs at all, and when I walk to the kitchen, I notice his keys are gone. As I make coffee, everything feels numb. I sit on the couch, mug in hand, and alone. I’m alone again. 

You deserve this. You did this to yourself. 

Scenarios played in my mind, over and over. Each one was worse than the last. The mug’s gone cold when the front door opens and closes. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting there. Dior looks at me as he stops in the foyer to drop the keys back in the catchall tray. Then he turns to set the bag of groceries on the counter. He doesn’t speak as he puts it away.

Tears prickle and sting my eyes when he sits beside me. I look into the mug, where I’d poured too much cream into the coffee. “I’m sorry.”

“Why did you pretend to be okay with it?” I almost jump at the sound of his voice. 

“I-“ I squeeze my eyes shut and take a breath. “I was afraid that if I said no, you’d find someone who’d say yes. Someone normal.”

“Lexxy, you know better than that.”

Yes, but there is always a last straw. I don’t realize I’ve said that aloud until he grabs my shoulders. “Why would you think something like that? I understand you were trying to make me happy, but my god, baby, it goes both fucking ways. You have to be happy too.”

He takes the mug from my hands and sets it on the coffee table. I’m pulled into his lap, and he wraps his arms around me. “I am mad at you,” he admits. “You let me think this was something we both wanted for half a year. Half a fucking year, Lexxy!” His breath puffs against my hair as he sighs. I feel the kiss pressed against my crown and how he squeezes me tighter. “Please promise that you’ll talk to me.”

“I promise.” I want to. My fingers grip his sweater, and I rub the soft knit between them. I still feel outside of myself, but the sensation is slowly reeling me back in. 

“We’ve been through so much together. It really hurts to know you’d think that I’d leave you over something like this.”

I know it’s irrational, but the fear was, is so real in my mind. As it circles, it draws itself in until it’s wound around so tight that no other thoughts can slip in. I try to explain it, but as the words leave my mouth, I feel stupid.

“You aren’t stupid.”

We sit there in silence. Dior only moves to get his arm out from between me and the cushion. He shakes his hand, trying to get the limb to wake back up. It flops against my side, and he flexes his fingers. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ll ever be like him.” He tucks the mostly dry hair behind my ear. “You aren’t a monster, Lexxy. Not in that sense anyway.” 

I hear the smile in his voice, and look up. Never in my life would I have thought to end up here, with someone like him. I had resigned myself to a life of one night stands, and at most a friend with benefits. Someone who’d never see me for who and what I really am. Dior sees me. Every part of me, down to the ugly details.

It will be a while before things are okay again, but at least we’ll work through it together. 


	13. The Hernshaw Ripper's Last Dance

Finally, I’m free of the trees. Harsh halogen light stings my eyes, but it’s such a welcome sight. A single wide trailer is only yards away. I push myself to limp the rest of the way across the red clay yard. My feet have long since lost feeling, so the rocks that stub my toes, and slice my soles are just background noise to the pounding in my head. If I can make it up these stairs, I’ll be safe.

The woman who opens the door nearly screams at the sight of me. It’s cut off with an “oh sweet Jesus!” All I can see are the sharp teeth of the German Shepherd barking at me. It sends my heart racing, and twists my guts into knots. She shouts at the animal to shut up, and holds onto it’s collar. The beast is pulled further into the trailer, and I can hear the click of the door that muffles the sound of it. 

She stammers: “sorry about him. We don’t get many visitors way out here.” She talks with artificial politeness, and her hands shake as she opens a closet. I take the offered crocheted quilt and wrap it around my shoulders. With reluctance, she allows me to step over the threshold.

“What on Earth happened to you, honey?”

I shake my head. In truth, everything is still a jumbled blur of trunks and branches. The crash left me in a daze, and the pain is finally settling in, now that the adrenaline is wearing off. A dull throbbing that began at the balls of my feet is working it’s way up my legs, and settling in my hips. I’d tensed, and tried to brake when the headlights veered towards me.

She guides me to the kitchen table, and sits me down. Her hands hover close to my body, but never touch me. 

I stare at the beige formica while she calls 911, trying to find something to focus on. If I can focus, I can stay awake. The speckled pattern on the table undulates and swirls. The seat cushions reek of stale cigarette smoke, and a faint hint of cheap weed. Despite this, I could easily succumb to the bone deep tiredness that’s trying to pull me down into the faded brown fabric.

_ No. Keep your eyes open. _

How far am I from the new house? I hadn’t been on the road that long before the crash. The chorus of Head Games was still going when my car finally came to a stop, slamming against the tree so hard that it bent the passenger side inward. I was lucky to be alive.

I need to call Dior. I need to let him know where I am. 

It’s hard to gather my thoughts with that dog so close by. If I focus on the woman’s voice the barking will just be white noise. It’s locked away. It can’t get me. 

“I don’t know, ma’am. He just showed up on my porch asking for help, stark naked, and covered in blood… No, I don’t rightly know. There’s a pretty bad cut on his head, and he’s got some glass in his hand. He ain’t talking much. Well… Will you shut up, Rusty! Sorry, ma’am.” Her voice then drops to a whisper as she moves to the back of the trailer.

The word “queer” and “breasts” are uttered like they’re a scandalous thing. “You remember what happened with Grace Holland’s girl last January? Some good old boys may have tried to scare him a little, and just took things too far.” She talks as if she’s discussing a childish prank, and not attempted murder.

Despite the effort to block it out, the incessant barking rips through me, making my palms sweat. The feral dogs back home were dangerous. Especially in the winter, when food was scarce for everyone. If I close my eyes now, the teeth will be there, the skinny bodies, and frenzied eyes. Katya was less than a yard away, her parka being ripped apart, and goose down mixing with the falling snow. The lunch she’d promised to share with me was already in the hollow bellies circling me. It makes me want to bolt, but I can’t go back out there. It’s a pitch black maze of pine and birch. Just because this one is barking doesn’t mean it’ll attack. I tell myself this over and over; inhale for five, out for eight. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Everything will be fine if I could just hear Dior’s voice.

She sets the phone on the counter, but doesn’t hang up. I eye it, wondering what she’d do if I try to grab it. “What happened to your clothes?” Her voice is soft, slow, like she’s talking to a child, or a frightened animal. The operator wants me to talk. Everything I say will be transcribed.

In the haze of the crash, I remember running. I’d crawled out of the busted window after untangling from the seatbelt, and wrenching my legs free from where they’d been pinned under the steering column. My shoes were somewhere in the car. The roots and rock took my stockings, shredding the sheer fabric until nothing remained.

Hands grabbed my blouse, and I broke free before falling down a steep slope. The wind got knocked from my lungs when I hit a sapling on the way down. The rough bark left ugly scratches along my side, that itch and burn now.

“It took them,” I say. My throat is sore, and my voice froggy. It makes my accent more apparent.

“It?”

I’d come to rest on the bank of a little creek. The soft dirt and cold water were dangerously comforting, as I tried to get my hands and feet under me. Outlined by the flickering headlights of my car, and sliding in the pine straw every few steps, the dark shape was making its way down the embankment. A red pinpoint of light glinted, like a singular eye focused on me.

All I thought about at that moment was of Dior. What would happen to him if I went missing? Catharine is just waiting to sink her claws into my estate. Now that mom’s been declared mentally incompetent, Dior is all that’d stand in the way of her getting to that. She’s my sister, but she has no love for my husband. I couldn’t leave Dior to fend for himself. Not against her.

It got close enough that I could hear it’s ragged breathing. I tried to run, but the creek rocks cut into my feet. A big hand snagged the waist of my jeans, and yanked me back. The solid blow to the kidneys made me see bright spots, and I tasted vomit at the back of my throat. 

I didn’t want to end up as a picture on the evening news; another missing person, soon forgotten in the sea of tragedies dredged up to draw in viewers. So I kicked and flailed until I hit home, and was rewarded with a grunt of pain. It gave me enough time to scramble to my feet. 

There was no moon tonight, and the stars were hidden by the dense canopy. The headlights had dimmed to nothing more than a faint glow at the top of the hill. It was just a humanoid splotch, slightly darker than my surroundings. I could smell the oniony tang of sweat, menthol cigarettes, and Irish Spring. It’s cock had bumped against my hip and backside when it’d grabbed me. The struggle excited it. 

This far from the full moon, it was hard to bring it to the surface. For a moment, I feared I wouldn’t be able to manage it. That I’d have to keep running, or worse, try to fight it off. When the prickling heat of the change started on the backs of my arms, and spread through my torso, I welcomed it with a sigh. 

My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I could see it with new clarity. It looked so insignificant now. No longer is it a dark, looming threat; it’s a middle-aged man in cheap flannel, and work issued boots. It was nothing but prey who thought too highly of itself. I laughed at the pitiful looking thing. 

It dropped the camcorder and stumbled backward while the last of my face settled. Gone was the confidence of a predator as it screamed, and shouted. I wanted to make it last. I wanted it to know the fear I’d felt. I wanted it to think it had a chance, because that tape needed to be destroyed. 

I let it run. I gave it the flicker of hope. The meat is so much better that way. The smell of fear is intoxicating. The panicked breathing, and wild eyes searching, now blind, had my mouth watering in anticipation. Still, I took my time, rewinding the tape and turning off the night filter. My claw tip pressed in the record button, and I backed away from it. Shredded film would be too obvious, and would attract additional scrutiny if it was ever discovered. 

Shockingly, it hadn’t tried to run back towards the road. I followed it’s trail deeper into the forest, and made just enough noise to herd it in circles, until it collapsed, wheezing and coughing. The pitiful cries it made, I repeated back. It was a shame I’d never heard the sound of someone in its family, someone it cares about, if it had one. Those sounds are the best to repeat: A child’s high pitched scream for their parent. A partner calling for help. An elderly mother’s warbling wail of pain. Oh, it’s beautiful how they struggle then.

“Hey,” a hand touches mine, and I jerk away. The woman leans back, “sorry, honey. I thought I lost you. So you really didn’t see who did this to you? You didn’t hear anything?”

I shake my head. I saw and heard everything. The pieces were slowly being put into place, though there were gaps. I don’t remember the crash itself, beyond the flash of light and the song. I don’t remember much before my world was nothing but trees, and grasping branches. 

There was nothing left now. No face, no voice, no tape. I’d consumed the marbled meat of its thighs. The forearms were too stringy, and the biceps weren’t worth the effort of pulling away the fat. I’d cracked its femurs just to hear the satisfying snap, then sucked out the rich marrow.

All of my anger and fears were taken out on it. The rain that’s now pattering the roof of the trailer would soon wash the blood away. The scavengers will pick at the pieces I didn’t like, scattering the evidence far and wide. Would anyone miss it?

The woman across from me sees a victim. Perhaps I am. It had targeted me with murderous intent. It just hadn’t anticipated what I am. That beast in the bedroom knew. It barks and scratches at the flimsy door until the EMS arrives.

Blue gloved hands lead me to the harsh light of the waiting ambulance. Drops of rain find every little hole in the quilt, and I shiver uncontrollably. The post transformation fatigue pulls at my eyelids, and my vision swims as I try to focus on the person asking my name. When they push me back on the gurney, the world blurs and fades.

When I wake up, I hear the faint beep of machinery and smell the bitter scent of disinfectant. Yellowed cinder block walls surround me, and Dior is beside me, asleep in the recliner. It doesn’t seem real, and my body doesn’t feel like my own. The sunlight looks hazy as it glares off the mounted tv screen. I could close my eyes, and sink back into that warm nothingness. I can’t, not until I know he’s really there.

The sound of me fumbling with the invasive tube up my nose with uncooperative fingers must’ve made just enough noise. I hear him groan, and stretch his legs straight out, bumping the rolling tray near the foot of the bed. The relief is palpable when he opens his eyes, and sees that I’m awake. “Hey, baby.” His voice is thick with exhaustion, but it’s like a balm. I stop fighting against the tubes and cords attached to me.

I’m sorry that this is what our first memory will be of the new home. That his very first call had been from the local hospital, by a stranger who butchered my name. His hand is warm and dry as he takes mine. His thumb rubs across the tape holding down the IV line, and his fingers move to the wrist when I tell him the paper cuff itches. His voice lulls me back into that cotton soft darkness.

I’m released the next morning, a few hours before lunch. The morphine leaves my limbs jellied, and Dior talks me into swallowing my pride just long enough to be wheeled to the truck. At least I have my own clothes, so I’m saved from that indignity. 

While the nurse helps fold me into the passenger seat, Dior explains to her that I rarely took anything stronger than Tylenol. “And even then, it has to be bad before he’ll even consider it.”

“Honey, you’re gonna be high as a kite for the rest of the day.” She says with a laugh, buckling the seatbelt for me. Her skin smells like antiseptic, and sugary drugstore perfume. “Make sure he drinks plenty of water.” She says to Dior, before patting my bandaged hand, and shutting me in.

I keep my eyes closed until we’re out of town. The glare of sunlight on the windshields, and hoods makes me nauseated. Dior hums along to Games Without Frontiers, occasionally whistling with the chorus as he drives. As piercing as the sound is, it reminds me that he’s solid and real. 

After turning the volume down, Dior tells me: “The cops want you to come in and give a statement. When you’re feeling up to it.” I can barely make out the lyrics, as Peter Gabriel drones alongside the rumble of the tires, and rush of wind.

Trees fly past the window, and I lean my forehead against the cool glass. The sensation keeps me from floating away. As we round the side of the mountain, less than a quarter-mile from the house, I can see the bent guard railing where my car had been rammed off the road. There’re still shards of mirror and glass glittering on the asphalt. Dior glances at me then reaches over to squeeze my knee. “The Mustang’s fucked,” he tells me. His voice is light, gentle, as he says that I can use this as an opportunity to get something in the color I’d originally wanted.

It doesn’t truly register until we pull up into the driveway. Hemlock branches scrape against the windshield as Dior parks beneath the tree. He could be pulling up with an empty passenger seat, to an empty house. Everything I’ve worked for could be ripped away at any moment. I’m a werewolf, but I’m not immortal. The crow’s feet and the ever increasing number of gray hairs are proof of that. It’s getting harder and harder to transform on off nights. How long before even the full moon is slow to draw it out? I’ve never met an elderly werewolf. 

I can control so much in my life, but not time. Not death. The thought stings my eyes and tightens its grip around my throat.

Dior’s there to help me out of the car; to kiss me when everything finally breaks, and I nearly collapse in the foyer. “I got you, Lexxy,” he says against my hair. “You’re alright. We’re home.”

Things will settle, he promises. We’ll find normalcy here, just like we found in Castries, and later in Annapolis. Eventually, the invisible hands that encircle my neck when Foreigner plays will weaken. The trees will cease to press around me. The shadows between the trunks will no longer seem so threatening when I step out to smoke. The forest will stop suffocating me as I explore my territory with each full moon. Soon I’ll be able to move with the confidence it had.


End file.
